


somewhere I have never travelled

by museaway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Businessman Castiel, Castiel in Glasses, Everyone Lives in Lawrence, Family Issues, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Minor Character Death, Post-Divorce, Relationship Issues, Some sadness with a happy ending, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: Driving home from work at his family's shop, Dean is hit by a man driving a Prius. Though Castiel is initially rude, he offers dinner as part of his apology, and Dean is drawn to him the more they talk. Since Castiel is raw from a divorce with a teenage daughter, Dean doesn’t expect the relationship to go anywhere and is surprised when Castiel quickly becomes a fixture in his life. But while Castiel seems eager to build a life with him, Dean is hung up on his past and family obligations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Caution:_ This story contains off-page minor character death. It also contains references to John’s sobriety and past alcoholism, his past infidelity, and mild homophobia. Please don’t read if that will bother you.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful co-mod and friend, Jojodacrow, for giving me an opportunity to dust off this draft and also run this incredible challenge; to Emily, for the original prompt three years ago; to Pilcrow for answering my obscure questions about Lawrence, like what the coasters are like at the Brewing Company; to Janet, for her beta work back in 2014; to Shawn, for asking me every day for a month if I was working on my draft (I needed that); and to my betas for this final version, Lara, Beka, and Jad. Jad screamed at me a lot in all caps.
> 
> The title is taken from the E.E. Cummings poem.
> 
> Written for the DCBB 2017. [Link to Art Masterpost](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/166012403728/this-is-my-art-master-post-for-somewhere-i-have)

_your slightest look easily will unclose me_  
_though I have closed myself as fingers,_  
_you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens_  
_(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose_

from _somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond_  
E.E. Cummings

 

* * *

 

The asshole who crouched beside a blue Prius in the middle of Main Street was wearing a trench coat. He squinted at the damage to his front bumper and muttered into a phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. He’d been on the phone for three and a half minutes, having whipped it out as soon as Dean had emerged, fuming, from his ‘67 Chevy and barked, “What the hell, jackass? Do you have eyes?”

A dent grinned from the month-old chrome job on the Impala’s rear bumper. Dean had a mind to put a similar dent in the guy’s face. Instead of apologizing for causing the accident, he’d given the Impala a cursory glance and said, “I need to call my lawyer.”

A mild breeze curled the edges of the man’s coat as it swept up Main Street, which was clogged with passing cars that had slowed to gawk at the accident. Drivers rolled down their windows only to pull away a few seconds later in disappointment. There was nothing to see besides a shattered headlight. The Prius had sustained only minor damage to the front right corner. Its plastic bumper was cracked and misshapen, but the impact hadn’t even crumpled the engine hood. Lucky sonofabitch.

Dean picked at his fingernails. He’d lived in Lawrence his whole life, but he’d never seen this guy around town. With any luck, he wouldn’t see him after tonight. He’d get the Impala back in showroom condition and send the jerk a bill for the labor. Hoping to move proceedings along, he made an exaggerated tapping motion at his watch when the man turned a few degrees in his direction, only to pinch the bridge of his nose and pivot away again.

“What a dick,” Dean muttered.

His neck was getting stiffer by the minute. Mom would insist he get it checked out, but he wasn’t going to spend the night in the ER, and involving the cops would take time he didn’t want to waste—despite how satisfying it would be to watch the guy’s smug expression crack in the presence of a squad car. Better to grit his teeth and exchange phone numbers, or they’d be out here another hour.

By some miracle, the man ended his call and stalked toward Dean. He had a rugged face and couldn’t be more than forty, with a full head of brown hair, clenched jaw darkened by stubble. His coat flapped around a rumpled suit and tie, and his sour mood could be explained by the exhaustion that had wrought bags under his eyes. Dean might even upgrade him to attractive if he could maintain non-hostile eye contact, but the man stopped a few feet shy, hands shoved in his coat pockets, and sighed.

“What’s the verdict?” Dean asked, determined to be civil.

“I’d rather not involve insurance companies, if that’s fine with you.” The man’s voice had an unexpected roughness. “I can’t afford to have my rates increased right now. My brother advised that I take pictures of the damage and get your information.”

“Thought you were calling your attorney.”

“My brother _is_ an attorney.”

“Ah.” Well, that was one thing they had in common. “Listen, as long as I get my car fixed, I don’t care what you tell your insurance company.”

The man nodded gratefully, a flicker of humility in his eyes, and Dean, who had always been a sucker for lost causes, glanced over the guy’s shoulder at the Prius.

“You’re a lot more banged up than me. You okay to drive?”

“I don’t know,” the man admitted. He rubbed his neck and winced; he was probably sore himself.

“There’s a couple Toyota dealers nearby.”

“I’m out of warranty.”

“I’m good with cars,” Dean said. “I can take a look at it.” He’d assumed his blue work shirt was reference enough to establish his profession, but the man snorted.

“Thanks, but I’d prefer to take it to a certified mechanic. Do you know if anything is open at this hour?”

Dean took a deep breath. He flirted with lying about the proximity of his family’s shop to the site of the accident. He could send the guy to Harris’s place instead, but money was money. It was almost the holiday season, and despite the fact that this guy’s suit didn’t fit him worth a damn and he was worried about insurance hikes, he definitely had more money than Dean if he was driving a hybrid. Besides, Bobby would kick Dean’s ass for turning away work.

“I take it you’re not from around here,” Dean said, sucking on his teeth. From the way the guy was dressed, Dean surmised he might be a visiting professor at KU.

“No.”

“What the hell did you swerve for, anyway?”

“I was trying to avoid hitting the dog. Obviously you were doing the same thing, but I didn’t see your brake lights until too late.”

“Yeah.” Dean gestured over his shoulder at the dent in his bumper. “Thanks for that.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “I apologize for the damage to your car, but we’re not getting anything accomplished arguing about it on the sidewalk. You’re obviously opinionated and know the area. Which shop would you recommend?”

“Winchester Auto,” Dean spit out. “It’s on 23rd, a couple miles from here. They’re open for another twenty-one minutes.”

The man pulled up what looked like a map on his phone.

“You don’t need that,” Dean said. “Follow this road until you get to—you know what, actually, just follow me. I can get your information there.”

“Fine.”

Dean climbed into the Impala and listened for her engine to turn over and purr. “ _Fine_ ,” he mocked into the blasting stereo.

He didn’t check to see if the Prius was following. He turned onto the first cross street and headed south.

#

Bobby glanced up from the service desk when Dean strode back into the shop. He raised an eyebrow and adjusted his baseball cap in order to wipe his forehead. “Did you forget something?”

“Made a new friend,” Dean said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Bobby craned his head to look out the shop door, in time for the guy to breeze through it. He stalked toward the counter. The door chimes shuddered in his wake.

“I realize it’s almost your closing time, but we were just in an accident,” the man said, folding his hands on the counter. They were clean and manicured, indications of a desk job. “I’m hoping you can tell me if it’s safe to drive and give me a rough idea of how much it will cost to repair. Ballpark is fine. I’m not asking you to commit to a figure.”

He glanced to Dean for confirmation and raised his eyebrows slightly. Understanding the silent exchange, Bobby caught Dean’s eye in a grimace.

“Don’t tell me you got her banged up already.” He removed his cap and smoothed back his hair before replacing it. He often made the same gesture when he dealt with irate customers.

“It was my mistake,” the man said, to Dean’s surprise. “Can you have someone take a look? If it’s under $2,000, I’d rather my insurance company didn’t know about it.”

Bobby glanced to Dean again. A little furrow of confusion ran between his eyebrows. Dean raised both hands in submission.

“Hey, I offered to look at it, but I got shot down. Guy said he wants a decent mechanic. You know where we can find one of those?”

“You didn’t say you were a mechanic,” the man said through his teeth. “You said you were good with cars.”

“I _am_ good with cars.” Dean grinned. “I’m also off clock.”

“Son...” Bobby reached over the counter to poke Dean in the chest. “Until you’re the one signing my paychecks instead of your daddy, you’re on clock when I say you’re on clock, and I say you march your butt out to the parking lot.”

There was no point arguing with Bobby. It would get back to John that Dean was being difficult, and he’d serve penance by scouring the office bathroom for a month. He dropped his keys and phone on the counter and motioned for the man to follow him outside.

The man shuffled after Dean and twisted sideways to avoid the door whumping shut on his face. He stood in irritating proximity while Dean knelt to examine the Prius, arms close to his sides, the toes of his leather shoes islands in Dean’s peripheral vision.

“You must think I’m a jackass,” he said.

Dean snorted but didn’t offer confirmation or deny the statement. His business was with the car. He mapped the damage with his fingertips: the headlight housing was busted—that would have to go—and there was no salvaging the bumper, but he’d been right about the hood. Still in one piece. And the side panels had survived unscathed.

“These small cars get the piss taken out of them in a collision,” Dean said. “I had a Civic in here a couple months ago that racked up four grand in repairs and wasn’t going ten miles an hour. Bust one up and they’re not worth whatever you save in gas. You’re lucky, though—you hit me with the corner. Last I checked, these headlights will run you about eighty bucks. I don’t have one in stock, but I can get one in a couple days, and plastics won’t be more than a few hundred, plus paint and labor. I’d say you’re under two thousand.”

The man sighed. “That’s a relief. I wasn’t keen on a month of ramen noodles.”

“Take her for a lap around the parking lot so I can hear the engine.”

A muscle in Dean’s lower back spasmed. He braced himself with both hands on his knees and stood up. This was nothing compared to the accident when he’d been twenty-one, but damn.

The Prius’s engine sounded fine; brakes and steering didn’t seem to be affected. The man shut off the car and stood next to him again.

“Where are you staying while you’re here?” Dean asked.

“I was only in town for the day.”

“You’re fine to get home. I can throw her on a lift and check the underside if you’re worried, but you’re probably just down a headlight. Do you live far?”

“Kansas City.”

“Any shop there can take care of you, or I can call the parts in tomorrow morning and get you fixed up next time you’re in town. It’ll just take a couple hours.”

“I’d prefer to have it taken care of right away, and you seem to know what you’re talking about,” the man said, mostly to himself. He looked back to Dean with renewed clarity. “If I leave it with you, is there a rental service in town? I can stay at my hotel another night and handle things in the morning.”

“We’ve got loaners. I can send you home in one tonight. Let me get this work order written up, get your information, and we’ll get you on the road.”

The man nodded. Sheepishness had replaced the anger from his face. He lifted his chin an inch so he could look Dean in the eye. “I apologize for my tone earlier. It’s been a long day. I realize that’s not an excuse.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Dean.”

“Castiel.” He extended his hand. “I should’ve introduced myself from the start.”

“That’s some name,” Dean said and they shook. Castiel’s fingers were cold. He squeezed Dean’s hand briefly and thrust his hand into his pocket.

“My mother was going through a phase.”

“Cruel and unusual punishment?”

“Angels. She’s an artist. I have brothers named Gabriel and Michael.”

“No shit. I’m named after a book character. ‘Course, my grandma claims I’m named after her, but my mom says otherwise.”

Castiel looked intrigued, tilting his head slightly. “Which book?”

“ _On the Road_ ,” Dean said. “Kerouac? My mom read it in college, said the name stuck with her.”

“The beat culture,” Castiel said with an appreciative nod. “Have you read it?”

“Nah. I keep meaning to, but I end up rereading my favorites. Something nice in knowing the way things are gonna end up.”

Knocking on the shop’s front window drew his attention. Bobby’s face was an apparition above a sign advertising a sale on winter tires. He tapped his watch to indicate it was closing time, then made the motion of a lock turning. Ellen probably expected him home for dinner. Dean pointed a finger at his own chest and raised a thumb. Locking up would only take a few minutes and would spare him from Ellen’s blacklist; that woman made the finest pies this side of Kansas, and Dean would not be denied come Christmas.

The setting sun had taken with it the warmth of the day, leaving behind a chill that numbed his fingertips. A gust of wind rattled the garage doors and Dean blew on his hands, rubbing them together until it became uncomfortable. Castiel shivered but didn’t button his coat.

“It’s warm in the office,” Dean said.

#

The old office computer woke as easily as a bear mid-hibernation. Dean drummed his fingers on the counter while they waited for the customer management software to load. An awkward silence had fallen over the office. Bobby had switched off the radio before he left. It usually played Ash’s mullet rock, but with it off there was only the constant hum of the vending machines and hiss of a dying fluorescent bulb as a buffer between them.

“Thing’s from the Stone Age,” Dean said, smacking the side of the monitor. Ash had repeatedly informed him physical violence against the computer wouldn’t help, but it felt better than sitting still.

“It’s fine,” Castiel said. “I’m sorry you had to work overtime because of this.”

“I was just gonna sit on my ass and watch TV anyway.”

Castiel slowly passed the set of loaner keys back-and-forth between his hands, patient as Dean entered his information into the system and tucked the work order into a folder. Dean’s stomach made a sound like a tar swamp. It had been hours since he’d eaten anything and a Milky Way bar was attempting to seduce him from the vending machine. Castiel glanced to the door and back, stilling his hands.

“Since it’s late, I was planning to get dinner before I leave town. You’re welcome to join me. It’s the least I can do.”

The request was unusual. Dean had been asked out by plenty of customers, but they typically had slamming cleavage and an interest in getting Dean horizontal. Those dates, if the term even applied, tended to finish in the back seat of a car rather than at a restaurant. He doubted Castiel was asking him out. Nothing in his behavior communicated interest. If anything, his posture was closed off. He watched Dean over folded arms.

This was an apology no matter how you sliced it, and since Dean was starving, denied his mom’s fried chicken that had likely gone cold an hour ago, he accepted the invitation. Mary always put a plate aside when Dean worked late; he’d bring it for lunch tomorrow.

“There’s a new diner not far from here,” he said. “I haven’t been there yet, but I hear they’ve got great pie.”

Like clouds parting, Castiel’s face brightened. “Do they have beer?”

Maybe Castiel wasn’t as bad as Dean had thought. “Uh...I don’t think so,” he said, grinning. “If you want beer, we’ll head over to the brewery. It’s just a couple miles from here and kinda touristy, but they’ve got good food. That okay?”

“Anywhere is fine as long as I can sit down. My back is sore.”

“Shit. Maybe you ought to get it checked out.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s not from the accident. I’ve been driving for two days. It’s a relief to be out of a car.”

“Are you okay to follow me?”

Castiel said he was and they went outside.

The loaner was a stodgy gray sedan. Castiel followed Dean two and a half miles north on Massachusetts. The brewery was wedged between a coffee shop and home improvement store, fronted by a tan stucco facade with a subtle western flair. Despite the evening crowd that Dean could see through the front windows, he found a parking space out front. Castiel parked across the street and half a block down, and held the restaurant door open for Dean when they went inside.

Sitting at the bar would keep the awkwardness to a minimum since they wouldn’t have to face one another. Dean bypassed the host station and grabbed two bar stools.

“Is it okay if we sit here?” he asked, tipping the scale in his favor by sitting down rather than waiting for Castiel’s answer. Castiel didn’t argue, just removed his coat and laid it over the back of the adjacent chair.

Sam had nagged Dean for a year to give this place a chance. They didn’t grill the best burger in the city, but the food was decent and the beer brewed on-site. Dean brought the odd date here since the restaurant closed at midnight, which either gave him an early out or an early start, depending on how things progressed.

The interior had the feel of a nice restaurant but wasn’t pretentious. It was a little homey for Dean’s taste: warm wood tones, a honey-colored bar flanked with high-backed wooden stools and crowned by the state flag of Kansas. It wasn’t unusual to find Sam among the other jacket-less businessmen at the far end of the bar, clustered beneath the flat-screen television, although he wasn’t here tonight. But this bar had one perk no other did: a certain bartender who approached with a smile.

“I didn’t think I’d see you in here tonight.”

“Hey, Eileen,” Dean said, waving in return. “Castiel, this is my sister-in-law, Eileen. She teaches at a school for the deaf but bartends here when they’re in a pinch. She makes the best damned Bloody Mary you’ll ever have. Eileen, this guy just hit my car. Get him a beer.”

She widened her eyes. “He hit your car and he’s still walking?”

“I was feeling generous,” Dean said, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. “Couple menus, too.”

“Sure thing.” Eileen got them menus and prepared their place settings. “Do you want your usual?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said.

“I’ll take your stout,” Castiel said, brow furrowed, attention focused on the menu. He trailed a finger down a column. “And a brewery burger, medium.”

“French fries?”

“That’s fine.” Castiel slid the menu back to her.

“What about you?” Eileen asked, turning to Dean.

“Same,” Dean said. Eileen went to punch the order into the computer and fill their glasses. “Figured you for a salad guy.”

“Most days.” Castiel kneaded his temples with his index and middle fingers. “Right now I’m in the mood for grease.”

“So, what do you do for a living?” Dean asked.

“I’m a senior manager for an industrial distributor,” Castiel replied. He dropped his hands to the bar and studied the lineup of bottles against the wall. “It’s as boring as it sounds. I’m on the road about seventy percent of the time. I’ve been living out of motels for two weeks.”

“That sucks.”

“I miss my apartment.” Castiel accepted the pint glass that Eileen handed him and lifted it so the skim of foam was eye level. “To your health,” he said and downed half in a few swallows.

“Better?” Dean asked, laughing.

“I will be.” Castiel centered his glass on a thick, round coaster and dabbed his mouth on a napkin. “You live in Lawrence?”

“Born and raised.” Dean took a swig of his own beer, rolling the bright, hoppy flavor around in his mouth before swallowing. “Now, my brother Sam—that’s Eileen’s husband—he was out in California for a few years for school.”

“Which one?”

“Stanford. But he did a semester abroad in Ireland; that’s how they met.”

Castiel looked impressed. “Stanford’s a good school.”

“Good and expensive,” Dean said. “Paid off, though. He joined a law practice in town, bought a real cute townhouse. They finally got married last summer.”

“Two of my brothers are attorneys. I did a year of law school and dropped out. I don’t have the constitution for it. And you work as a mechanic?”

Dean had never minded that question in his twenties. What he did was steady work that required precision and skill most people didn’t have, and he was damn good at it. But as he got older, people tended to tack on riders: Was that what he planned to do as a career? Couldn’t he go back to school? The joke was on them; mom had his MBA from KU framed in the living room beside Sam and Eileen’s wedding portrait. Still, the question had begun to grate on him. His work jeans stunk like a garage.

He shrugged one shoulder. “We can’t all be big-shot lawyers.”

“I admire that you work with your hands,” Castiel said.

“Pays the bills.”

“My wife was the one who took care of our cars.” Castiel buried his pained expression in a laugh. “I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know much about how they work.”

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Dean gladly focused his attention on the beer and drained his glass. Eileen brought him a refill without asking. Castiel tapped out a rhythm on the bar and Dean grew distracted by his hands, just as he’d been at the shop. As far as hands went, Castiel’s were attractive. His fingers weren’t too skinny or too thick, but proportionate to the rest of him: straight and tanned with clean, trimmed nails, free of the adhesive that ringed each of Dean’s. He didn’t spot a band or the ghost of a wedding ring—a couple guys he knew had the convenient tendency to lose theirs on road trips—but Castiel had mentioned a wife in the past tense. A widower, maybe?

Castiel turned his wrist to check the time and Dean glanced away, rubbing his neck.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “You’re married?”

Castiel’s fingers stilled on the bar. “Divorced.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. What about you?”

“Uh, marriage isn’t really my thing.”

“It’s...challenging,” Castiel allowed after a moment.

“It seems to work for Sammy, though. Eileen is real sweet.”

“It worked for my parents. I like the idea of it, but Amelia and I weren’t well suited for each other, in the end.”

“How long were you together?”

“Off and on since college. We were the last of our friends to get married even though we were together the longest.”

“You got any kids?”

“A daughter. Claire.” Castiel’s voice grew fond. He reached in his pants for his wallet, practical black leather, and spread it open on the bar. He pointed to a photograph of a smirking blonde girl about fourteen years old.

“She’s beautiful, man,” Dean said.

“Thank you,” Castiel said and put the wallet back. “Do you have any progeny?”

It was a moment before Dean realized that Castiel was asking if Dean had children of his own. He coughed into his fist and shook his head.

“No. My ex, Lisa—she has a son. Ben. I thought he might be mine, but, uh. No dice.” He orbited his fingertip around the rim of his glass. “I send him birthday cards and Christmas cards, though. He’s a good kid. They live in Indiana now.”

“That’s far away.”

“Yeah. His mom and I tried to make the long-distance thing work for a bit, but it’s tough.”

Castiel nodded. “Claire and I use FaceTime.”

Dean grinned. “I’m not computer literate,” he said. He produced his cell phone, an old flip model. A crack bisected the outer screen.

“That’s a relic,” Castiel said.

“Sammy says I ought to donate it to the Smithsonian.”

“Your brother sounds interesting.”

“He’d agree with you. Thing’s on its last legs. I’ll have to break down and get one of those smart phones eventually, but I’m holding out as long as I can.”

The smell of burgers and Dean’s consequent watering mouth diverted his attention. Eileen approached with a tray. She set a plate in front of each of them and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Can I get either of you anything else?” she asked.

“I’ll take another beer,” Castiel said pleasantly. “Thank you.”

“Dean?”

“I’m good.” He drenched his burger with ketchup and squeezed the whole thing until juices ran out the side and onto his plate. Castiel gave him a sideways glance, but rather than comment on Dean’s table manners, he hiked up his sleeves and went to town.

Dean laughed and followed suit. He took a first bite so huge it hurt to swallow. Eileen brought Castiel’s new beer and left them to their gluttony. Neither of them talked as they ate. Castiel finished first. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and smiled at his empty plate.

“I take it you hated that,” Dean said once he managed to swallow.

“It made me very happy.”

Castiel spoke with an honesty that made Dean laugh, and for the first time since they met, he offered a smile. It gently crinkled the skin around his eyes, which were the color of the sky after a thunderstorm, deep blue with a wash of gray. The beer and the warmth of the restaurant had infused his cheeks with color. His lips were very red.

Dean swallowed. Castiel held his gaze for a breath and, with a sigh, turned forward to rest his elbows on the bar.

“When the hell’s the last time you relaxed?” Dean asked.

“Probably not since my divorce.”

“How long ago was that?”

“A year and a half. Well, that’s when the legal part was finished. Amelia and I haven’t lived together since Claire was thirteen.” Castiel rubbed the back of his neck and allowed his hand to linger. His fingers dipped inside his collar. “It took me a while to get used to not seeing her every day.”

“Well, sure, she’s your kid. Hell, Ben’s not even mine and I cried when he left town.”

Castiel nodded to his lap. He cleaned his face and hands, and discarded the soiled napkin on the bar. “I was going home to a frozen dinner and the National Geographic Channel,” he said in a guarded tone. “This might sound strange, but I’m glad I hit you. I’m not glad about the damage to your car, obviously, but I haven’t gone out for a beer in years.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I appreciate this, Dean. Really.”

“It’s no problem. When you come back into town to pick her up, we’ll do it again.”

When Castiel looked at Dean this time, his eyes were soft. A smile hovered at his lips. “I’d like that,” he murmured.

He stared unabashedly at Dean, and like some game of chicken, Dean stared back. The longer they looked at each other, his mouth went dry and his cheeks hot. Unable to withstand the intensity any longer, he locked his eyes on the bar and finished his beer, trying to will down the incriminating blush.

He was relieved when Eileen presented their bill. “Who gets the bad news?” she asked.

“I do,” Castiel said, accepting it from her before Dean had a chance. He skimmed the total and presented a credit card.

“I’ve got cash,” Dean said. He handed a twenty to Castiel, who shook his head and gently pushed Dean’s hand away.

“Please. You’ve been extremely understanding. Dinner is the least I can do.”

Dean put the twenty back into his wallet. “I’ll get you next time.”

They parted on the sidewalk. Dean wasn’t sure why he’d walked Castiel outside, except that it seemed appropriate when Castiel had stood up and cinched his coat.

It was nearly ten o’clock. Traffic had slowed, and with the neighboring shops closed for the night, the street was relatively still and quiet.

“You good to drive?” Dean asked, standing next to the sedan.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said. “Just tired. I’ll be glad to get home.”

“She ain’t exactly pretty, but she’ll get you there in one piece. I’ll call you once I have a cost estimate.”

“Thank you. It was nice to meet you,” Castiel said. He stuck out his hand. Dean shook it firmly and headed back inside.

“What was that about?” Eileen asked with a bar towel in hand, wiping down the place where he and Castiel had eaten.

“Apology for hittin’ my car. Wasn’t gonna turn down free food.”

“He was cute.”

“You think everyone’s cute.”

“I just want to see you happy,” she said.

“Why don’t you and my brother pop out a couple brats. That’ll make me happy.”

“I’m waiting for science to invent a way for Sam to get pregnant.”

“You’d be a great mom.”

“I would.” She smiled and sighed. “Are you going to call him?”

“It really wasn’t a date. We were just grabbing food.”

“Sam didn’t stare at me that much at our wedding.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’m observant,” she said. “You have to be to work with kids. You can’t tell me you aren’t interested.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m pretty sure he’s straight. He mentioned an ex-wife.”

“You know that proves nothing.”

He rubbed his neck. It was still sore but didn’t seem to be getting worse. “Not like it’s any of your business, but we’re gonna grab beers the next time he’s in town.”

“Romantic.”

“Better than you nerds and your museum field trips.”

“I like museums.” She snapped a bar towel in his direction. “What’s the point of living in a college town if I don’t take advantage of the benefits?”

“Nerds,” he repeated.

She nodded to the parade of beer taps. “Do you want another?”

“Nah, I gotta get home.”

“Are you sure? It’s on the house.”

“I just landed myself two repair jobs. Gotta get my beauty sleep. Tell my jerk of a brother to call me sometime, but not before eight.”

“We’ll do dinner next week. I’ll text you.”

He left her the twenty as a tip and waved over his shoulder on his way out.

#

His parents were finishing the dishes when he came through the back door. Home was a bedroom on the second floor of his parents’ house, the same room he’d had growing up. Mary used Sam’s old bedroom as an office and craft room, and John talked eagerly of plans to convert Dean’s room to a home theater if Dean ever moved out again. “ _When_ ,” Dean always corrected. He’d been saying “when” for three years. It had become a running joke at this point.

His room bore a residual teenage aesthetic: a vintage Zepp concert poster he’d received on his fifteenth birthday that was peeling at the corners, the oak desk mom trash picked when he was twelve. Across his bed lay a deep blue quilt, plaid underside worn soft with age. The mattress, well past its prime, squeaked rumors of his nighttime activity. Returning to it had been a downgrade after eight months on Lisa’s memory foam.

As much as he complained, it was John who had convinced Dean to move back in following his breakup with Lisa, so he could save money for a future down payment rather than bleed it unnecessarily on rent. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary. But Lawrence’s real estate prices stayed high because of the university, and with the cheaper apartments overrun with college students, Dean had resigned himself to being thirty-three years old and still living with mom and dad. Sam and Eileen had offered their spare room to him a couple times, calling it “one foot out of the nest,” but they lived farther from the shop than his folks and Dean had no interest in being a third wheel.

Most days, his living situation was fine. He took care of the electric bill and cooked twice a week; in return, his parents gave him space and didn’t question his lifestyle. The side door off the kitchen provided a semi-private entrance he used when he had company (though after the second time he’d caught a one-night stand having coffee with his mom the morning after, he’d stopped bringing women back to the house). Victor, the only guy Dean had ever openly dated, had survived a disastrous backyard barbecue but never stayed the night. Following his dad’s reaction to their short-lived relationship, Dean had been too pissed to have him over again. The few times they’d slept together had been at Victor’s apartment before he moved to Washington.

Dean kissed his mom on the cheek and went upstairs for a shower. He undressed and stretched out naked on his bed, soles flat on the mattress and his knees drawn up. He folded his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling. It had been over a year since he’d been interested in someone beyond a hookup, and thinking about Castiel sent a thrill through him.

Maybe Eileen was right. There was something about him Dean found hard to shake. Until the Prius was fixed, their interactions had to be professional, but that didn’t stop him from fantasizing about Castiel’s hands: how they’d looked wrapped around his beer, shiny with grease from the burger. He imagined them sliding down his chest, or holding Dean’s head in place between his legs and gently pulling his hair.

He dragged himself into the shower before he made a mess of the comforter. “Man, you need to get laid,” he said and started the water. The pipes groaned in solidarity.

Dean wasn’t long-term relationship material. His relationship with Lisa had proved that. When an unexpected promotion had required her to relocate to Indianapolis, she’d brought home so many empty boxes, it had been impossible to see past the front hall. Room by room, she’d emptied the house of her belongings. But she’d never asked Dean to come with them, and he’d never offered to go.

The morning she and Ben had left for Indiana, he’d beaten his frustration into a rusting pickup behind the shop. He’d smashed the windshield and ruined what was left of the hood before Bobby peeled the crowbar from his hands and coaxed him inside. Lisa had called that night while she was unpacking and he’d gone outside to take it, hiding on the strip of pavement next to his parents’ garage where they kept the trash cans. Dean had crushed the remains of one of his dad’s elicit cigarette butts with the toe of his boot and told Lisa to give Ben a hug for him. Before she hung up, she’d said she loved him. She said that a lot, but that had been the first time Dean had felt compelled to say it back.

His mouth had opened and he’d wavered, gape-mouthed like a bass. A few seconds later he’d hung up with a polite “goodbye.” They’d stopped talking a few weeks later. Last he’d heard, she was dating a guy named Jeff who was teaching Ben how to tie a fishing lure.

#

After his shower, the smell of coffee tempted him downstairs. Mary had already gone to bed, but John was seated at the kitchen table in a gray robe that hung past his knees. Sam and Eileen had given it to him last Christmas. He thumbed through a three-inch stack of invoices and slurped from an old mug that said “Number One Dad” in black block letters. As kids, it had been common to find him nursing a couple fingers of Jack once the dishes were done, but now that he was sober, the old Mr. Coffee chugged overtime.

“Is this decaf?” Dean asked. John grunted affirmatively without looking up. Dean poured a cup and settled across from him, pulling the latest _Autoweek_ from a stack of mail.

“Did you see the government can hack your car now?” John sniffed and gestured to the offending headline on the magazine’s cover. “I knew I didn’t trust those on-board computers. Be glad you’ve got a classic.”

“Yeah.” Dean rapped his knuckles on the table, turning pages in the magazine but hardly registering makes and models. The coffee left a bitter film on the back of his tongue. He read the top invoice upside-down and scowled in confusion. “Bobby and I already went through those.”

“I’m just checking them over.”

“What for?”

“If you don’t like me overseeing your work, the bank opens at 8 a.m. and you can talk to them about a small business loan. Or I hear Harris is hiring.”

“I thought we were saving you from having to do this. That’s all.”

“It’s part of being a business owner, Dean. You can’t blindly trust your employees. I’m not gonna hand it over to you until I’m confident you can run it right.”

The second hand on his watch jumped fourteen times and Dean said evenly, “Are you going in tomorrow?”

“First thing.”

“I’m heading in around seven-thirty if you want a ride.” He didn’t mention the accident. John would find out tomorrow. There was no hiding the dent or the scratches, not if John would be at the shop, but that was a conversation Dean preferred to have in daylight.

They didn’t talk again until the coffee was gone. John got up first. He rinsed his mug and thumped Dean squarely on the back on his path to the stairs. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Night,” Dean said. The top stair squeaked under John’s weight and moments later, his parents’ bedroom door softly closed. Down the street, a neighbor’s dog barked three times, but apart from that, the house was so quiet he could hear the second hand on the living room clock. It ticked in time with his pulse.

Dean had aspired to become the shop manager by the time he was thirty. When John went off to rehab, it seemed within reach. But even with the MBA under his belt, John questioned Dean’s every decision.

Who was he kidding? His dad was never handing over the business, not as long as Dean could turn a wrench. Sam had been right to get out when he did. Dean had thought of him as ungrateful at the time, conceited, too good to work for family, but mom had encouraged Sam to go west. Dean had dutifully stayed behind, and for what? To have his work constantly questioned by a man who’d just as soon have Dean sweeping the shop floor into his fifties?

He poured the rest of his coffee down the drain and went upstairs in the dark. Castiel had left Lawrence a couple hours ago. He was probably home by now, watching...what had he said? National Geographic? That was the sort of thing Sam liked. Dean scanned the on-screen guide for the channel but they didn’t subscribe to it. Just as well. A documentary about global warming wasn’t his first choice before bed.

He switched off the TV and jerked off to a muted, grainy hand job on his laptop. As he was falling asleep, physically sated but itching with abstract dissatisfaction, he wondered if the word for his emotional state wasn’t _content_ so much as _lonely_.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean thrashed awake when his alarm went off at seven the next morning, and he forgot whatever he’d been dreaming about. He groaned and rolled over to check the weather. Overnight rain had left a sheen on the lawn and cars, but the sun was up and would quickly burn off the ghostly haze that hung over the neighborhood. The window felt cool against the back of his hand. He’d need more than his leather jacket today.

He didn’t have to be up for a while, but he punched down the urge to close his eyes for five more minutes or stay in bed reading. He needed to order parts if he was going to have the Prius fixed within a week, and that assumed they were in stock. Ash, the shop’s service manager, could take care of ordering if Dean gave him a parts list, but he’d order from their usual suppliers and Dean was determined to shop around and make sure he got the best prices. Ash had likely seen the work order by now and would be suspicious why Dean, who preferred to work on older vehicles, had volunteered to take a model from his blacklist. Dean could write it off as helping a friend, but the excuse wouldn’t fool Ash. Where the hell would Dean have met someone like Castiel? He needed a better excuse. He’d simply say that he was helping out a guy going through a rough time. Yes, that guy had hit the Impala. No, Dean hadn’t ripped him a new one. He was maturing. 

John puttered around downstairs, clearing his throat as he put dishes away, which meant mom was the one using up the hot water. Dean did a perfunctory wash-up over the sink in lieu of a shower and tugged on a clean shirt and yesterday’s jeans. There was a smear of grease on his right thigh where he’d wiped his hand at dinner. He rubbed a thumb over it. 

John grunted a morning greeting when Dean came downstairs, then went up to get dressed himself. Dean drank a scalding cup of coffee while he waited for his dad to get ready. Mary came down with him, dressed in her favorite jeans, a towel around her hair. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go in later? I feel like pancakes,” she said as he laced up his boots.

“Save me a couple for later?” He pecked her on the cheek. “Dad, you ready?”

John walked around the front of the car to the passenger’s side, so he missed the dent in the bumper. Dean hoped that he’d avoided a fight and was feeling optimistic about the day by the time they arrived at the shop. The fog had burned off, leaving the day bright. Though he had the stack of invoices in hand, John whistled tunelessly to Metallica. Dean pulled close to the building to avoid the rear of the car getting clipped, realizing too late what he’d done. There was no way to walk in front of the car, which meant his dad would have to walk around the back. John got out with the engine still running and had a first-hand view of the dent in the now unfortunate sunlight. 

Dean saw his dad’s reaction in the rear-view mirror and felt five years old. He got out of the car and kept his chin down. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not that bad.”

“Dammit, Dean! I wouldn’t have given her to you if I’d known this was how you were going to treat her.”

Before Dean could explain, John stomped away and threw open the shop door. 

He’d probably fix himself some coffee, then hole up in the office with Bobby until lunch, so Dean took his time going inside. He gave the Impala’s bumper a hard look in the daylight. Satisfied he could work out the dent with a little elbow grease, he went inside for the keys and pulled the Prius into the first bay. Ash, late as usual with a 20oz gas station coffee in hand, watched him through the service window.

He raised an eyebrow when Dean strode into the front office and told him to shove over so he could research parts. 

“In that case, I’ll take a break,” Ash said.

“You got here, what, five minutes ago?”

“Get the phones too, will you? I’ll be out back.”

Dean scoffed but fielded a couple service calls while he searched for a replacement front bumper. He sourced one under a hundred bucks that could ship right away. It was already primed, so all Ash had to do is spray it with the base coat color. He ordered two cans of Blue Pearl so they were sure to have enough, and Ash had clear coat in spades. A replacement headlight cost a hundred more than he’d expected, but it was available to ship with the bumper. He could swap it out and install the new headlight housing in a few hours. Paint would take the longest, needing two full days with drying time. Other shops might rush the process, but Ash was the best automotive painter in the area. All things considered, Castiel would be back on the road for under a grand. 

Dean picked up the shop phone to give him the good news, but John and Bobby were speaking with one of their suppliers. From the edge to his dad’s voice, Dean knew they’d be on for a while. He tried to ignore the flare of irritation. He should’ve been part of that phone call. He had a good rapport with their reps, but he wasn’t about to pick a fight, not like Sam, who’d stormed out of the shop during summer break. He’d been twenty. He and John had gotten into a shouting match over late fees and he never did come back. Not in coveralls. 

The second line was supposed to stay open for incoming calls—they didn’t use it to call out except during emergencies—and Dean shouldn’t use his personal cell phone with customers. There’d been a guy a few years back who had taught him a lesson, repeatedly calling Dean after 11pm to schedule morning appointments. Dean had finally blocked his number. Castiel didn’t seem like the type to harass his mechanic, though, and Dean wanted to get the parts on order. Cell phones weren’t allowed outside the break room, according to the company policies Bobby had helpfully pinned to the cluttered bulletin board outside his office, but in his defense, Dean really was trying to work. 

He punched up Castiel’s account information in the computer. The phone rang three times and a strained voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, Castiel?”

“Who is this?” Castiel had the same irritated tone he’d used when they first met in the street. He was probably scowling, too, his eyes reduced to squints. Dean held back a snort. 

“This is Dean Winchester from Winchester Auto in Lawrence. I’m calling about your Prius.”

“Oh!” Castiel’s voice instantly became an octave higher and about ten times more pleasant. “Dean. Hello, I—please give me one minute.” 

He spoke to someone, probably with his hand over the speaker. Their words were muffled. A telephone wailed in the background and there was shuffling and several voices. Dean made out the words “conference room” and “five minutes.” Then a door thudded closed, muting the background noise, and Castiel exhaled heavily into the phone. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I wasn’t in my office.”

“It’s no problem. I have your estimate.”

“Do I need to sit down?” 

Dean gave him the breakdown. “And the bumper’s already primed, so Ash should be able to knock it out in a couple days. I should have you back on the road by the middle of next week.”

“At least I won’t have to rob a bank. What about your car?”

“She’s okay. Couple hours and she’ll look like new. Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“I want to cover any damage.”

Dean should’ve estimated a few hours’ time and worked it into the estimate, but he shrugged even though Castiel couldn’t see him. “Buy me a couple beers and we’ll call it even.”

Castiel let out a breath. “I’d be happy to. Thank you for being so understanding, especially considering how rude I was.”

Dean chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know when the parts come in and I have an idea when you can pick her up.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. 

“You got any questions in the meantime, the shop number’s 7-8-5...” Dean paused, reconsidering. “Actually, this is my cell. Why don’t you use this number, that way you’ll definitely get a hold of me.”

“I’ll be sure to save it.”

“Awesome.” Dean shouldn’t have been thrilled by that. He bit down on a smile and drummed his fingers on the counter. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“I have a meeting with the sales team in a few minutes.”

“Sounds like a blast.”

There was a smile in Castiel’s muttered, “That’s debatable.”

“Later,” Dean said.

Castiel disconnected the call without another word and Dean saved his number in his cell, but the intimacy of only a first name seemed inappropriate. He edited the entry to “C. Novak - Prius.” There. Now it anyone asked, he was merely providing exemplary customer service and would remove the number once the job was complete.

“Dean,” John bellowed from the office doorway. The coffee had kicked in. His eyes were wide and focused. Behind him, seated at the desk, Bobby looked like he’d gone a couple rounds with Gunner Lawless. He grimaced apologetically. 

“Where’s Ash?” John asked. “I need the recall pricing sheet. I don’t think these numbers are right.”

“He’s out back taking a break,” Dean said. “I’ll get it for you.”

“Tell him break’s over.” John’s eyes fell on the phone in Dean’s hand. “Unless you’re calling in lunch for everyone, stop wasting time and park your butt under a car. I don’t pay you to socialize.”

“I was calling a customer.”

“Is that the one that hit you, that you didn’t bother to tell me about? Bobby says you were in here last night with the owner of that Prius.”

Reddening, Dean shoved the phone in his pocket. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. “I’m taking care of it.”

John huffed. “We’ll discuss this later. Tell Ash to get in here.”

#

Dean took his time getting home from work, relieved that his dad accepted Bobby’s offer of a ride mid-afternoon. The shop always felt tense when he came in—not like the old days, when John used to roll in still drunk from the night before. Sober, John was efficient and ruthless, like he was trying to make up for lost time. He’d scaled back to working only a couple times a week at mom’s insistence. She demanded he take it easy. But days he did come in, he blew in like a storm front. Even Bobby kept his distance.

Bobby and John’s friendship went way back. They’d met in the military years before Dean was born and still took hunting trips together every fall. Legend went that after his own dad passed, John found himself overwhelmed running the garage alone and convinced his best friend, recently widowed, to sell his salvage yard and relocate from South Dakota. Another hunting buddy of theirs, Bill Harvelle, had moved down with his family from Nebraska and ran the service desk until his accident. His widow, Ellen, eventually took up with Bobby and Dean had inherited an unofficial little sister. Jo had been shaping up to be a good mechanic, a hell of a lot better than Sam, when she got it into her head to go to college and study zoology. She didn’t come home often, but Dean could usually tell the day she was supposed to arrive because Bobby smiled a lot more. 

He wasn’t smiling when Dean left for the day. 

“Sorry for ratting on you, but you’re gonna have to face the music one way or the other. Just be glad the damage isn’t worse.”

“Sure you don’t need me for anything else?” Dean said, slipping on his jacket.

“You best get home,” Bobby said.

His folks had dinner waiting on the table, and from the pleasant way conversation flowed, Dean thought he might have escaped further talk about the accident. He offered to wash the dishes, hopeful that his parents would retire to the living room and that he could steal upstairs once the dishes were done, but Mary spoiled his plans.

“I think I’ll take a bath,” she said and went upstairs, leaving them alone.

John started the coffee and Dean busied himself with the dishes. He squeezed too much dish soap onto the sponge and it took twice as long to rinse everything clean. A plate slipped through his fingers and clattered in the sink.

“Slow down,” John said. “It’s not a race.”

“I got it.” Dean wrestled the plate into the drying rack.

“Are you going to tell me what happened with the car?”

Dean sighed. “There was a dog in the road. Guy didn’t realize I had my brakes on until too late.” He shut off the water and dried his hands. The coffee machine belched. “He didn’t want to file a report or call his insurance company, so I convinced him to come with me back to the shop. He’s gonna pay for the repairs.”

“Why didn’t you say something when you came home?”

“Cause I didn’t feel like getting into it.”

“Dean, if you’re can’t talk to me when there’s a problem, how am I supposed to trust you with my business? You never used to keep secrets from me. Are you gonna up and leave next, like your brother?”

Dean turned around. “Don’t bring him into this. Sammy was never happy working at the shop.”

“Maybe not,” John said, “but I don’t like my boys sneaking around.”

“You know as well as I do that you would’ve tried to talk him out of Stanford if he’d told you. And why are you bringing this up now? That was twelve years ago. You weren’t exactly someone we could talk to back then.”

John didn’t react. He opened an upper cabinet and took out a mug. “Do you want a cup?”

“I’m gonna grab a shower.”

“Your mom used all the hot water. Sit down.” 

It was a few minutes before the machine finished brewing. John poured them both coffee and stood looking out the kitchen window. He looked larger than life, outlined in the moonlight. “Bobby and I went over the books for last quarter. You’re doing a good job, son. I want you to keep it up.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said warily. John must’ve heard the confusion in his words, because he sighed. 

“I’m hard on you because I know what you’re capable of.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you about the car.” 

“Well.” John sat across from him and settled back with a grunt, massaging his shoulder, which he lately complained was growing stiff. “Sounds like you handled it right. Bobby said you’re taking care of the repairs yourself?”

“Yeah. Waiting on the parts to come in.” The coffee was too hot to drink. Dean leaned forward over his elbows and nervously licked his lips. “Did you get a chance to think about what I said about taking on some restoration work?”

John grimaced and stuck his nose in his coffee. “Bobby said you’ve been harping him about that. We tried it when you were a kid, but people don’t want to pay what it’s worth. I don’t want to get pulled too far in another direction. Bobby agrees with me.”

“But, dad—”

“When the business is yours, you can do what you want. Until then, we do things my way. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want to take on a side project, go ahead, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work. You can clear out the second garage.”

“Maybe in the spring.”

John glanced to the microwave clock and motioned to the staircase with his thumb. “There’s probably enough hot water for a shower now.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re going to bed this early?”

“Thought I’d read for a while.”

“Don’t forget to say goodnight to your mother.”

Dean took the coffee upstairs. He left it on his nightstand as he showered and drank it cold while he read. Every time Big Brother was mentioned, it wasn’t Orwell’s description of a portrait that greeted him, but his father’s face. 

#

The parts came in Monday afternoon, but the paint didn’t arrive until early Tuesday, and Bobby didn’t mention the delivery to Dean, who found the package unopened on the parts desk. He got the paint and bumper into Ash’s hands before lunch and offered him a six pack if he’d bump the Prius up his work list. 

Ash stuck out his chin with a counter offer. “A bottle of Jim Beam and nothing less.”

Dean grudgingly shelled out $20, throwing the folded bill down on the counter. It flopped open like a fish. “Buy it yourself and keep this between us.”

Ash tucked the money in his pocket. “I’m wounded you question my loyalty.”

“No offense, man, but you’re not exactly known for being a steel trap. I don’t want the guys to find out.”

“Don’t worry. Your infatuation with...” Ash glanced at the paperwork. “Castiel—the heck kind of name is that?”

“I don’t want my dad thinking I’m showing favoritism. That’s all.”

“You _are_ showing favoritism.”

One of the service technicians, a junior at KU, walked past. Dean nodded at him and lowered his voice. “If you’re gonna be a dick about it, give me the twenty back.”

Ash grinned, his eyes at half-mast, and tucked the twenty into his pocket. “Give me two days and you won’t be able to tell this beauty from showroom.”

#

True to his word, Ash had the bumper painted that evening and applied the clear coat once the color had cured for a day. Dean ducked outside to call Castiel and let him know he could pick the car up as soon as that evening. He’d text once he got the bumper screwed in place, he said. Castiel breathlessly thanked him and asked how late they stayed open. 

“Seven. When do you get off work?” Dean asked, chewing on the end of a pen.

“I can probably be there by seven if traffic isn’t bad, but I can’t guarantee it. I don’t suppose you can stay open later?”

“Uh...I have stuff I can work on. I could hang out until you get here. Just give me a head’s up when you’re fifteen minutes out.” 

“Would you really? Then I’ll do that. Thank you, Dean.” Castiel hung up abruptly and left Dean staring at his phone. 

“Dude, you suck at goodbyes,” he muttered and went back to the garage. 

Ash was running a hand over the bumper where it was propped in the paint tent. “This is almost too pretty to put on a car. Not one drip. We should hang it on the wall.”

“We should hang _you_ on the wall,” Dean said. “When’re you gonna do something about your hair? You’re worse than my brother, like something outta _MonsterQuest_.”

“Is that show even on anymore?” Ash said. “You gotta learn to live and let live.”

“Give me that bumper and I’ll think about it,” Dean said flatly. “I already told the guy he can pick her up today.” 

“My, my. Aren’t we in a mood today. He must be cute. I couldn’t get any details out of Bobby.”

“It’s not like that.” Dean scratched his neck. His nails came away dark. He’d take a long shower when he got home. “You wanna grab a beer later?”

“The guys and I were talking about going somewhere after work. Text me when you’re done for the night,” Ash said and flounced to the main office—officially, to man the service desk, though shop rumor was he actually spent his days attempting to hack into government websites. 

The old bumper came off easily, just a few screws and bolts, a handful of clips. Dean replaced it with the new one and finished wiring the headlight. The body of the car had faded since Castiel bought it, but from a few feet away, the colors were nearly indistinguishable, the paint job as smooth as factory. 

He sent a text saying the car was ready, but Castiel didn’t respond. He was probably in another meeting or driving, or saw no reason to text his mechanic. Obviously. Why would he? Dean felt stupid about paying Ash to rush the job, but what’s done was done. He busied himself with an oil change on an S10 and a Camry, then cleaned his hands in preparation to install a stereo system in an SUV. 

The precision of electrical work suited him. It wasn’t the work he liked best, but he didn’t get as dirty as he did when he took apart engines, and it paid better than standard maintenance. John didn’t advertise that they offered this type of service, but he didn’t turn the business away. 

Close to seven thirty, Dean had the SUV’s dash off and cast aside, and was disconnecting the old stereo when a pair of headlights lit up the garage. An engine rumbled in the parking lot and went quiet. The lights dimmed and switched off, and Dean heard a car door shut, the tap of footsteps on asphalt. A now familiar coat was silhouetted against the frosted glass doors.

“Be right there,” Dean called. He abandoned his tools and climbed out of the SUV, smoothing the front of his shirt and straightening his collar before unlocking the door. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Castiel said in a white puff of breath. He stepped inside the shop and vigorously rubbed his hands together. 

“You need a warmer coat,” Dean said. He locked the door and motioned over his shoulder that Castiel should follow him to the counter. “That thing’s not meant for winter.”

“It’s warmer than it looks,” Castiel said, but his cheeks told a different story: flushed with cold, reddening by the second now that he was indoors. He pulled out his worn leather wallet and laid it on the counter. 

Dean wiggled the mouse to wake the computer, closing the browser tabs Ash had left open, and pulled up Castiel’s account. Though it was below the initial estimate, Castiel still winced when Dean read him the total.

“Sorry,” Dean said gently. “I did my best to keep the cost down.”

“It’s not your fault.” Castiel passed him a Visa. “I don’t suppose you offer payment plans?”

“Full payment due at the time of service. She looks good, though. No one will be able to tell you had work done.” Dean waited for the receipt to print and laid it on the counter for Castiel to sign. Castiel scribbled something illegible and folded his copy of the receipt perfectly in half. He put it in his wallet along with the credit card and took a long breath. 

“Here are your keys.” Dean handed them over, careful not to touch Castiel’s hand. “And you’re all set.”

“Thank you.” Castiel returned the key to the loaner, hesitance bared in the economy of his movement. 

“I’m about done here,” Dean said. “Do you still want to get something to eat?”

Castiel’s forehead creased. He glanced to his shoes and Dean steeled himself for the impending excuse: Castiel hadn’t expected to work so late and had an early morning meeting; there was a nice Christian woman he’d just started seeing, who lived in his apartment building; he wasn’t interested in being seen twice publicly with a guy in grease-stained jeans.

But after a moment, he raised his chin and looked at Dean with intent. “I’d like that very much.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, tapping his fist lightly on the counter. He grinned at Castiel for a moment and rode out the wave of fondness that crested under his ribs. “I have to lock up. Are you cool for a second?”

“Of course. I have to make a phone call.”

“I’ll only be a couple minutes. Make yourself comfortable.” Dean gestured to the mismatched chairs and a garage sale coffee table that served as the shop’s waiting area. He logged his time on the SUV and went through the steps to close: locking the back door, ensuring the exterior lights were on and powering down the computers. In the dingy bathroom with a fan that rattled like a freight train, he scrubbed what grease he could from his fingers with a nail brush and ran a damp paper towel over his face and neck. Did he still have a spare t-shirt in his locker? No, he’d taken that home to wash. Damn. He stripped off the blue crew neck and settled for the black undershirt. It didn’t show perspiration stains and made him look trim around the waist. He wasn’t sure why it mattered. 

“You too,” Castiel was saying in a fond voice when Dean re-entered the office. “I love you. I’ll see you Sunday.”

He must’ve be talking to his daughter. Dean lingered at the desk to give him privacy and retrieved his coat from the back room. Castiel had put his phone away and waited beside the door, hands thrust in his pockets.

“I’ve just gotta set the security system,” Dean said. “Do you want to follow me, or should I drive?”

“I’ll drive,” Castiel said. “It doesn’t make sense to take two cars. I can drop you back off when we’re finished.”

“Same bar, or do you want to try someplace different?”

“Whatever you think. I enjoyed where we ate last time.”

“Fine by me,” Dean said, walking over to the security system. He punched in the four-digit code and the system began to beep in one-second intervals. Castiel followed him outside and started the Prius. It hardly made any noise, which made Dean inwardly groan, but he was grateful that Benny didn’t frequent the brewery and therefore wouldn’t see him pull up in a hybrid. He’d give Dean hell. Dean ducked down to climb in and fished for his seat belt. 

“These things are a lot roomier than you’d think,” he said, trying to be gracious. The footwell was deeper than you’d expect from the outside. He had plenty of legroom. 

“I bought it for the gas mileage,” Castiel said and checked the back-up camera before he eased the car out of the parking space.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a company car.”

“I have a gas allowance, but it wasn’t enough to cover my last vehicle.”

“What was it?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“It can’t be worse than a Prius.” 

Castiel paused. “It was a Lincoln Continental.” 

Dean had to bite the inside of his cheeks but couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. 

“I knew you’d laugh.”

“I’m having a hard time picturing you driving that. Thought you’d say something flashier.”

“I liked it. It was comfortable. Which way do I turn?”

“Go left,” Dean said and let his head rest against the seat. The car operated so quietly, he could hear himself swallow. Castiel left the radio off. “Was that your daughter you were talking to?” 

“Yes. I had to cancel our video chat.”

“Shit, sorry.” 

“She’s with her friends, and I have her this weekend. To be honest, I could use another night out. Last week was...well, I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“I was afraid you were going to cancel on me. Glad you said yes.” 

Castiel briefly took his eyes off the road to study Dean with a bemused expression. Dean focused his attention on the Prius’s computer screen, unsuccessfully navigating the GPS.


	3. Chapter 3

They sat in the same bar stools as the week before. Dean draped his jacket over the back of his chair, but Castiel kept his on, hunkering down as he raised a hand to flag down the bartender. Eileen wasn’t working tonight, but Meg Masters, who had been a year behind Dean in high school and still painted her nails black, strode over like a cat to its prey.

“Dean Winchester,” she drawled. She bobbed her dark head toward Castiel. “Who’s your friend?”

“Castiel Novak,” Castiel said, extending a hand. Meg smirked and shook it, looking mildly impressed. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Castiel Novak. I’m Meg. How do you know Dean?”

“I hit his car,” Castiel said pleasantly.

“Ooh.” Meg clucked her tongue. “I hope he wasn’t too cruel about it.”

“He was more than polite.”

“Really!” Meg said with feigned sweetness. “What’s your secret?”

“Can we get a couple menus with that attitude?” Dean asked. 

“Touchy,” she said. She laid two menus in front of them, leaning over her elbows toward Castiel to indicate her favorite items with a meticulously lacquered fingernail. Dean fought to avoid rolling his eyes at the obvious flirtation, but Castiel seemed oblivious. He nodded appreciatively and thanked Meg for her input. 

“What was the beer you had last week?” he said, turning to Dean. 

“Two ales,” Dean told Meg. “And I’ll get a burger. Medium, with everything.”

Castiel ordered the same. 

“Two beers, two burgers, coming up. You know, if I were you, Castiel, I’d save room for dessert.” Meg winked at him before turning away, but Castiel didn’t react.

“You realize she was flirting with you,” Dean pointed out once Meg was out of hearing range. 

“Oh?” Castiel said, fidgeting with a button on his sleeve. 

“We give each other shit, but she’s cool.”

“I’m sure she’s very nice.” 

“Not your type?”

With a frown, Castiel began to pick at something on the bar surface. He focused his concentration on it, which Dean interpreted to be him avoiding the question. 

“Sorry, not trying to pry,” Dean said, realizing how pushy he must’ve sounded. “You’re just coming off of a divorce, right? I think my brother’s wearing off on me. He’s always trying to fix me up.”

“I have coworkers who do the same,” Castiel said. He stilled his hand, drawing his fingers into his palm, then dropped his arm to his lap. “I was relieved to get your message and have an excuse to come here.”

Dean gave him a weak smile. 

Meg returned with a beer in each hand and slid them over without preamble. “Cheers,” she said. “Your food will be up in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, relieved when the phone rang and she went to pick it up instead of lingering. He tapped his beer against Castiel’s glass. “To your health.”

They drank generously. After a minute, Castiel turned to him and said, “You don’t seem like you need help getting dates.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said your brother tries to fix you up, but you’re... _confident_.” Castiel scowled and drank, wiping his mouth before continuing. His lips left a wet impression on the bar napkin he discarded between them. 

“You’re in sales. Doesn’t confidence come with the territory?”

“It’s an act,” Castiel said. “In real life, my people skills are ...”

“Rusty?”

“I was going to say exiguous. Amelia and I started seeing each other in college. I’ve never dated anyone else. I never thought I’d have to start over.”

“You mind me asking what happened?”

“We weren’t happy.” There was a tightness in Castiel’s voice, tension in the line of his jaw. “I realized things about myself, and the strain on our relationship was starting to affect Claire. That’s why I moved out.”

“But you guys are cool now?”

“As much as we can be. We’re not as angry with one another anymore. But it’s strange to be around someone you shared so many years with, knowing that part of your life is over. Even if I wanted it back, I couldn’t have it.”

“Shit, I think we’re gonna need a couple more rounds after this to cheer you up,” Dean said. It worked to break the mood. Castiel grinned into his beer and shrugged the coat off his arms. 

The crowd tonight was a mix of college students and families. The din made it harder to talk, but it also made the pauses between topics less awkward. Dean rested his forearms on the bar and wrapped both hands around his glass, letting his eyes drift up to the TVs over the bar. One played Sportscenter and the other was on commercial. He scanned the news ticker for something to do.

“Do you enjoy sports?” Castiel asked. 

“Huh?” Dean turned to look at him.

“Sports.” Castiel pointed to the TV. 

“Uh, not really,” Dean said. “You?”

Castiel shook his head. “I played football in high school, but I didn’t really enjoy it. I run, though.”

That information gave Dean a totally valid reason to imagine what Castiel’s thighs must look like underneath his suit pants: probably thick and muscled, with well-shaped calves. “Oh, yeah?” he said, wetting his lips.

“I ran a half marathon last year.”

“No shit,” Dean said. “I’d fall over.”

“You look like you’re in good shape.” Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean’s chest. 

“That’s cause you haven’t seen me naked,” Dean said without thinking.

Castiel’s eyes widened and his cheeks and ears went pink. Dean bristled at his obvious mistake and backtracked by smiling broadly. He clapped Castiel on the shoulder.

“I’m joking,” he said firmly, afraid Castiel might get up and leave, or worse, put his fist in Dean’s face. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

He patted Castiel’s shoulder soundly and removed his hand. Castiel coughed and sipped his beer, glancing at Dean and then down to his hands. He twisted up his mouth. Dean watched from his peripheral vision, wondering if he’d just blown the night to hell, but Castiel cleared his throat.

“I’m not offended. It would be flattering to be the recipient of your attention.”

He turned fully toward Dean, and though he was unnerved, like Castiel’s gaze could somehow pierce his skin and let him see all of the ugly stuff underneath, Dean stared back.

“Two burgers,” Meg announced, startling Dean out of his thoughts. 

He wrenched his eyes from Castiel to blink stupidly at her, then grabbed the ketchup and created a murder scene out of his fries. Castiel mumbled a polite “thank you” and they ate in silence. 

“Was that too forward?” Castiel asked after a few minutes, focused on his plate, hands gone still. 

Dean almost choked on a mouthful. The lump slid painfully down his throat and he pounded a fist on his sternum to ease the tightness in his chest. 

“Huh?” he asked. 

“I’m sorry.” Castiel ran a hand through his hair with jittery laughter. “I think I might be reading this all wrong. Are you flirting with me?”

Dean bought himself a few seconds to think by chugging the rest of his beer and waving at Meg for a refill. 

“Uh. That depends,” he said, smearing the back of his hand over his mouth. “Do you want me to?”

Castiel’s eyes dropped to Dean’s lips and he licked his own. “I think so.”

“In that case,” Dean said, unable to stop the grin spreading over his face, “we’re on the same page.”

“Oh,” said Castiel on a sigh. “Good.”

He returned his attention to the burger on his plate, chewing with a newfound serenity. Dean caught himself staring and ate the rest of his burger without really tasting it, fixated on the shape of Castiel’s mouth, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. 

Castiel cleaned his hands on his napkin and sat back with a satisfied hum to watch Dean finish. Plenty of people had looked at Dean over the years, usually as a prelude to sex, but Castiel’s regard was different, like Dean was an artifact on display. The heat in his expression wasn’t especially predatory or expectant, just interested. 

“You’ve got ketchup on your face.” Castiel said. He pressed a thumb to his own mouth, mirroring the spot on Dean’s face, and dragged his thumb across his lip slowly, curling it into his palm. 

Dean’s heart picked up. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

He mimicked the movement of Castiel’s hand, then sucked his thumb into his mouth and tasted ketchup. A flush spread over Castiel’s face, but there was a hint of caution around his eyes. 

“You ever done this before?” Dean asked neutrally, cleaning his thumb on a napkin. Folding his hands together, he turned forward and let his eyes drift up to the TVs. 

“Done what?”

“Pick a guy up in a bar.”

“Once,” Castiel murmured. 

“Are you in a hurry to get home?” Dean asked, uncertain why he was nervous about Castiel’s answer. This lacked the potential to go anywhere, but Dean was no stranger to one-night stands. They’d hook up tonight and that would be that. Nothing to get hurt over. Besides, Castiel probably wasn’t interested in anything serious this soon after his divorce. Maybe they could keep things casual, get together when Castiel was in town, and it wasn’t a bad drive to Kansas City. Mary would complain about the lack of grandchildren, but Dean couldn’t picture himself with a spouse or a kid. And she could always hound Sam. 

“I’m not in a hurry to get anywhere,” Castiel answered. Dean flagged down Meg for another round. 

Their conversation turned friendly. Dean learned that Castiel had been a freelance writer and still had plans to finish a book, enjoyed cooking, and ran about twenty miles a week. Dean told him about his dream of opening his own restoration shop. He had the business plan drawn up but hadn’t shown it to his dad yet, knowing he’d react badly if he thought Dean was striking out on his own. Castiel was an active listener, giving Dean his full attention, prodding him with further questions or a nod when he paused. The conversation came so easily, Dean hadn’t realized two hours had passed until Meg announced last call. 

Castiel drove Dean back to the auto shop and parked alongside the Impala. Dean’s stomach was doing somersaults, like he was back in high school wedged against the door to his old pick-up with Rhonda Hurley. Castiel shut off the engine but didn’t touch him. 

“I’d like to call you,” he said, eyes cast toward his lap. “Is that alright?”

“Uh, sure,” Dean answered, feeling lightheaded. “You’ve got my number.”

“I’ll be back this way in two weeks if you’re free.” 

Dean’s bemused smile was lost in the dark. “Pretty sure I can squeeze you in,” he said and put a hand on Castiel’s thigh. 

Castiel unfastened his seatbelt and slid closer. “It’s been a long time since I...may I kiss you?”

Dean took pity on him. He curled a hand around Castiel’s wrist and kissed him soundly, pressing closer when Castiel made a small noise in his throat. He let his hand travel up Castiel’s arm to where it bent, then trailed it along the front of his coat and slipped inside to rest on his hip. Castiel’s body was firm and warm. His upper lip was rough and Dean relished the burn it left behind on his lips and cheeks. They kissed until Dean’s lips were numb and Castiel was panting. 

“If I don’t leave now, I never will,” he said. 

“You’re going?” Dean put his lips to Castiel’s throat and sucked. “Now? I thought we were gonna see if we could both fit in your back seat.” 

“I have an early meeting. I shouldn’t have stayed this late as it is, but...Dean, your mouth is incredible.” 

He wound a hand into Dean’s hair and kissed him for another few minutes, until Dean’s watch signaled that it was 12:30am. He’d gotten a hand underneath Castiel’s shirt and was finally unbuttoning his pants when Castiel stiffened and pulled back. 

“I really do have to go.” He pushed Dean’s hands away and began to fix his shirt. 

Dean huffed and gestured to his crotch. “You’re really gonna leave me in this state?”

“I’m sorry. I—I’ll call you once I know my work schedule.”

He was reminded of a married guy he’d picked up back in college. They'd made it down to boxers before the guy freaked out and bolted. 

“Forget it,” he muttered. “It’s not a big deal.” 

He wiped his mouth and hastily adjusted his clothes, feeling for the door handle in the dark. What a fucking waste of an evening. At least there was no one around to see the tent he was pitching. 

Before he could get out of the car, Castiel gripped his arm. 

“I _will_ call you.” 

Dean shrugged off his hand. “I said don’t worry about it,” he said, but Castiel leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

“I like you, so I’m going to call you unless you tell me I can’t.” 

Dean blinked at him stupidly and got out of the car without another word. Castiel pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He ducked down so he was visible through the passenger side window and waved once, then drove off. Dean stood with his hands in his pockets for a minute after the tail lights were no longer visible. 

He started the Impala and checked his phone. There was a missed call from Ash, who’d followed up with a text message asking where Dean was, and a dinner invitation from Sam for next week. He sent Ash a reply that said “sorry, next time” and was halfway home when Ash called. 

“Hey,” Dean said. 

“Don’t tell me you just left the shop. I’m not putting pants back on.” Ash’s voice was muffled as though he was face down on a pillow. 

“Nah, I’m heading home. Dinner took longer than I thought.” 

Ash chuckled. “Mr. Prius?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Sounds like it went well.”

Dean scratched his neck and slowed for a traffic light. “I don’t know.” 

“Go get your beauty sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Dean took his time driving and went straight upstairs when he reached the house. His parents were long asleep; their bedroom light was off. Dean tossed his phone on the nightstand and took a quick shower, settling on a rerun of a medical drama to wind down. 

He hadn’t been kissed like that in...hell, maybe ever. If he’d pushed matters, he’d probably be naked in the back seat under Castiel right now, but instead he was watching TV alone, wondering if Castiel was actually going to call like he said or if Dean had been another straight guy’s tourist attraction. 

He jumped when his phone lit up with Castiel’s name a little past 1:15am. He answered on the second ring. “Hey.”

“I told you I’d call,” Castiel said, sounding pleased with himself. 

“Hope you’re not calling for roadside assistance. I’m already in bed.” 

“I just walked in the front door. Did I wake you?”

“Nah, but I’m about to go to sleep.”

“I won’t keep you, then,” Castiel said. Dean heard a swish of fabric and pictured him hanging his coat in a small closet. “I had a really great time. I’m sorry it got cut short.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I have my daughter this weekend, but if it’s alright with you, I’ll call you on Sunday and see how your weekend went.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “Uh...you get some sleep.”

“You too. Goodnight.”

#

Dean dragged himself through Thursday, surviving nine hours at the shop on a steady coffee intake, his mood elevated by replaying last night in the car. Castiel’s stubble had left Dean’s lips sensitive. He touched them throughout the day, only realizing it whenever he tasted motor oil. 

Friday morning, he thought about calling on the pretense of asking how the Prius was driving, but if Castiel had car problems, he had Dean’s number

He toughed out the weekend. He hung out with Ash and the guys from the shop on Friday. Saturday night, Benny invited him out for drinks and Dean went round for round with him until the bartender called him a cab. He did penance in the form of a hangover the next morning, his shame crowned when his mom drove him to pick up the Impala. He hadn’t gotten drunk like that since grad school and nursed his headache with cold chicken and infomercials, lounging in sweatpants until dinner time, and then he put on his loosest pair of jeans and one of Sam’s old t-shirts. 

The grandfather clock chimed eight times before he felt well enough to sit upright. He was watching TV with John, who raised an eyebrow every time Dean checked his phone. 

“Is my company not good enough for you?” John asked. 

Dean stashed the phone under one of his mom’s favorite throw pillows and stopped looking at it. By nine o’clock, he’d convinced himself that Castiel wasn’t going to call and that Dean had been a fool to get his hopes up. The late show came on TV and he called it a night, thanking Mary for dinner and burying his disappointment in his covers. 

#

Buzzing woke him some time later, the skitter of his phone on the nightstand. It had to be his brother. Sam had no understanding of or respect for normal people’s sleep habits. Dean answered without checking the screen. “What?” 

“Dean? Did I wake you?”

His eyes shot open. “Castiel?”

“I’m sorry for calling so late, but I just dropped Claire off. We went to see a movie.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s...I was just watching TV with my folks. How, uh...how was your weekend?”

“Better now that I’m talking to you.”

Dean had used that line on people before but almost believed it coming from Castiel. He rubbed at the prickling blush on his cheeks. 

“I almost called you yesterday,” Castiel continued, “but I wasn’t sure how this works.”

“How’s your daughter?”

“Moody, though I suppose I was like that at her age. She corrects everything I say.”

“It’s all those hormones. I drove my parents nuts when I was in high school. I was a walking hard-on.”

“Oh, God, I don’t want to think about Claire having sex.”

“Sorry,” Dean laughed and steered the conversation in another direction. “So...what’re you doing now?”

“Lying in bed, talking to you on the phone, already dreading the week.”

“Do you have to travel?”

“Yes. I’ll be home by the weekend, though. They have me at a Holiday Inn Express. At least they have good breakfasts.”

“Never stayed in one,” Dean said. 

Castiel sighed into the phone, and from the gentle rustle of sheets, rearranged himself in bed. “What did you do all weekend?”

“Worked a couple hours. Caught up with a buddy of mine last night. He drank me under the table. I’m still paying for it.”

“I wish I could make you feel better.”

“Thanks.” Dean swallowed. “I didn’t think you were really gonna call.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment. “Dean, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I wasn’t joking when I said I almost called you sooner, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Dean knocked his fist against the wall. “I don’t scare that easy.”

“I’m sorry if this is premature, but I want to be completely honest with you. You’re the first person I’ve been interested in since my divorce—and not just physically, though I’m sure you know how attractive you are. I felt a real connection to you the other night. Despite my actions in the car, I’m not interested in a casual hookup. That’s why I stopped when I did.”

“I don’t get it. You stopped because you like me?”

“I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you better, and not just in bed.” Castiel paused for a breath. “I thought it was better to tell you now. If that’s distasteful to you, I hope we can be friends.” 

Dean’s heart seemed to beat very fast and very slow simultaneously. “So...if I asked if I could make you dinner Friday night, you’d say yes?”

“Yes.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Are we really doing this?” Castiel asked.

“Why not?”

“Mine then. There’s a grocery store nearby. We can go shopping once you get here. And...” Castiel’s voice grew softer. “I don’t have Claire. You could spend the weekend, if you’d like.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, strangely calm. “Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

“I’ll text you my address.”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for the better part of a minute, breathing in tandem. Dean splayed a hand on his chest and lazily stroked his collarbone. 

“I should let you sleep,” Castiel murmured. 

“Yeah, probably. I don’t even know what time it is.”

Castiel made a soft noise, like a chuckle. “It’s late.”

“You tired?”

“Somewhat. Why?”

“I was gonna ask what you were wearing,” Dean said, pleased by the hitch in Castiel’s breath.

“Nothing at the moment. What about you?”

Dean kicked out of his boxers. “Just a smile.”

“I should warn you, I’m not very good at this.”

“Jerking off?”

“Phone sex,” Castiel said. “If that’s what this is.”

“Not much to it. Just tell me what you’d do to me, if you were here.”

“I’d kiss you again,” Castiel said, and Dean feared they’d have a repeat of the other night, but Castiel followed with, “I want to kiss every part of you: your lips and your skin and your cock. I want to know what you taste like everywhere.”

“Jesus,” Dean said, wrapping a fist around himself and pulling slowly. “You wanna suck me off, Cas?”

“Not at first. I’d start with your nipples. Did you know some men can orgasm from nipple stimulation alone?” 

Castiel’s voice was made for sex; the sound of it made Dean throb. He dragged a hand across his chest and shivered, the sensation reaching the soles of his feet. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I’d use my tongue and my teeth until you begged me to touch you.”

“Touch me how?”

“With my hand. I’d stroke you, make sure you were hard before I put my mouth on you. I’d kneel between your legs and spread them apart so I could see all of you, and then I’d take you in an inch at a time until I can feel you in my throat—Dean. Dean, are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes,” Castiel gasped. “I wish I could see you. I bet you’re gorgeous like this.”

“Friday,” Dean promised, gripping himself tightly to stave off orgasm. “Tell me what you’re doing. How it feels.”

“I’m rubbing my thumb over the head of my cock and pretending it’s your tongue.”

“You’re not bad at this at all. _Fuck_.”

“I’d like to, eventually,” Castiel groaned, “or you can fuck me, but if we keep this up much longer, I’m not going to last.”

“S’okay. I wanna hear you come. Let me hear you.” 

The phone must’ve fallen away from Castiel’s ear. Dean strained toward his voice, the way he softly keened and broke on Dean’s name. Dean followed, stunned by the intensity even though they could only hear one another, and he lay panting, waiting for his voice to return. He fished his boxers from the foot of the bed and lazily cleaned his hand and stomach. 

Eventually, Castiel hummed across the line. “That was worth the repair bill.”


	4. Chapter 4

The following Friday, Dean’s nerves rattled him on the forty-five minute drive to Kansas City. What if their initial attraction had been a one-time deal? Or, assuming they still wanted to jump each other, Castiel might have irritating habits and be impossible to tolerate for more than a few hours. He might have a cat and Dean might spend the whole weekend getting intimate with his mucus membranes instead of Cas’s tonsils. They might get a couple months into this and Castiel would decide Dean wasn’t worth the effort. 

He almost turned his car around twenty minutes into the drive, but fear of one of Sam’s pep talks kept him headed east. 

He’d packed a day early, throwing in jeans, a couple shirt options, and his last two condoms. He didn’t want to falsely presume they’d be naked the whole time, so he added pajamas to be polite. Friday morning, he’d swapped the blue shirt for plaid and remembered his toothbrush before kissing his mom goodbye and reminding her that he’d be back Sunday. 

Nothing had upset him at work that day, not the call from an irate customer who thought auto maintenance should be free or the cold front predicted to blow in later. He’d be in Kansas City by the time it reached them, possibly doing some blowing of his own. Bobby had shooed him out a half hour early, claiming Dean’s “ball of frigging sunshine” attitude was ruining the shop’s energy. 

“Be careful driving,” he’d said. “I don’t need to hear your idjit butt is stuck in a hospital an hour away from here.” 

Dean had grinned his way into the car.

Castiel only lived three miles from the exit, but it was dark by the time Dean exited US-69. He squinted at street signs trying to find the entrance to the apartment complex. It was nestled on a couple of wooded acres: drab two-story buildings with matchbook-sized balconies but had parking in spades. Dean pulled into a guest space and took a moment to collect himself. gripping the steering wheel so tightly it hurt.

Castiel’s building was secured by an older buzzer system. Dean’s eyes landed on “C. Novak” in H-918 and his apprehension returned. If he cooked dinner for Castiel, they couldn’t pretend this had been a casual hookup. He liked Cas, more than he’d liked anyone in a long time, and that made him uneasy. 

But driving away, going back to his parents’ house, never seeing Cas again? There was no sense putting miles on his baby only to chicken out now. Mary Winchester had raised him better than that. Dean held his breath and pushed the button. 

“Hello?” Castiel’s voice crackled through the old speaker.

“Hey,” Dean said. It came out strangled. He cleared his throat and said more clearly, “Hi. It’s me.” 

“Come on up! Second floor, end of the hall on the right.” An unpleasant buzzing followed, then the click of the lock disengaging, and Dean headed inside. His palms sweated in spite of the cool weather. He wiped them on his jeans and crossed the small mail room lined with individual locked boxes just large enough for an envelope, following an arrow toward the stairs. 

Though it was easily two decades old, the building smelled clean and the dark commercial-grade carpet was newer. One of Castiel’s neighbor’s had decorated their doorway for the holiday season with a welcome mat that said “Ho ho ho!” and a two-foot light-up reindeer. It looked Dean in the eye as he approached, seeming to judge his appearance, and he began to regret his decision to leave directly from the shop instead of going home to shower. His clothes were rumpled from the car ride and he smelled like a garage. Nearing the door, he ran his tongue over his teeth and wished he’d brought gum. 

He knocked, drawing a breath when footsteps approached, and wondered if it was physically possible for his heart to burst out from behind his ribs. The deadbolt turned with a clunk. 

Castiel appeared in the doorway in his work clothes minus his suit jacket, tie askew and the same tired cast to his face, but he bloomed into a gummy smile when they locked eyes. Dean’s trepidation vanished. Castiel held the door wide but didn’t go in for a kiss, so Dean didn’t either, glancing down as he stepped over the threshold. He set his bag on the tiled floor and shoved his hands into his back pockets, uncertain of protocol and suddenly shy.

“Find the place okay?” Castiel asked, securing the deadbolt. 

“Yeah. No problems.” Noting Castiel was in socks, Dean untied his boots and took off his jacket, pointing to a small door to his right. “Closet?”

“It’s full,” Castiel said sheepishly, stepping around him without touching, and walked further into the apartment, disappearing around a corner. “You can put it in my room. It’s the last door in the hall. Do you want a drink before we head to the store?”

Dean gulped. “A drink would be great.”

Castiel’s place was spartan, walls painted the flat, lifeless beige of temporary housing. Dark tracks in the short-pile carpet spoke of past tenants. Castiel owned a rich leather couch and flat-screen TV, the lone items in the main room that hinted at a previous life. Columns of mail dominated the glass coffee table, but the envelopes were the only personalized items in the apartment. There were no photographs, no artwork, not even a throw pillow. 

Castiel’s bedroom was no different, not twelve feet square, large enough for a queen-sized bed, nightstand, and dresser—the cheap kind from a discount store. Dean tossed his coat onto the bed from the doorway and joined Castiel in the narrow galley kitchen. The once-white linoleum floor had worn to a dull yellow beneath a wall of melamine cabinets, and a cut-through in the opposite wall opened into the living room and provided a small breakfast bar. The tired decor was improved by Castiel, who was bent over to look in the refrigerator. Dean took a moment to appreciate his ass but kept his hands to himself.

“I have beer or hard cider,” Castiel said. Dean chose beer and they drank on opposite sides of the kitchen, chatting politely about their workdays and the weather and holiday plans, as if they hadn’t whispered filthy things to each other twenty-four hours earlier. Castiel drove them to the store and held the basket while Dean selected ground sirloin and hamburger buns. He didn’t argue when Dean got out his wallet, though he did voice an opinion on pie filling: cherry was out, so apple it was. 

“Do you have ice cream?” Dean asked, inferring “no” from Castiel’s squint. He bought a tub of vanilla and a pint of pistachio he noticed Castiel eyeing. 

They split the bags between them without discussion, carrying the groceries back to the car and later upstairs, as though they regularly went grocery shopping together. Castiel put the ice cream in the freezer and Dean got to work on the burgers, opening cabinets in search of a bowl and frying pan. He set everything out and washed his hands, pausing when he felt Castiel’s hands settle on his waist. Dean shut the water off and turned around. Castiel tilted his chin up to kiss him. 

“I forgot to do that earlier,” he said. Dean anchored a wet hand in Castiel’s hair and kissed him in return. He walked him backwards and boxed Castiel with his arms against the opposite counter, dipping to kiss his neck, spending time on the patch of skin hidden behind his ear. 

“How hungry are you?” he whispered.

“Very,” Castiel said, although he kneaded Dean’s waist and kissed him hard for a few seconds. “I didn’t get lunch today.”

“Alright, food first.” 

Dean shifted into chef mode, encouraging Castiel to relax, happy when he announced that he was going to shower and change. The kitchen wasn’t designed for two grown men. Four burgers would be enough for tonight between them. Dean saved the other two for lunch tomorrow. If there was any leftover pie, they could eat that for breakfast and not have to worry about cooking again until tomorrow night. 

Castiel came out of his bedroom, clean smelling and pink from the shower, as Dean took the last burgers out of the frying pan. They ate in the living room, on the coffee table Castiel had cleared of envelopes. 

“Oh,” he moaned after his first bite, eyes fluttering closed. “This puts every burger I’ve ever had to shame.”

“It’s just a burger,” Dean dismissed, though he was flattered by the praise. He grinned through the next bite. 

Since they were both too full to move, Castiel put on a movie after they ate. He reached for Dean’s hand ten minutes in. 

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s good.”

They watched the rest of the movie that way. Their heads knocked together when something funny happened on screen and by the end, Castiel had fallen asleep on Dean’s shoulder. He was a noisy sleeper, breathing through his mouth. It was sort of endearing. 

Dean cleared the plates and woke Castiel up long enough to walk to the bedroom.

“You gonna sleep in your clothes?” he asked, throwing his jeans on the floor. 

Castiel rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I had plans to seduce you.”

Dean’s fingers flirted with the edge of his shirt. “My old man always says there’s no point putting off until tomorrow something you can do today.”

“That’s good advice,” Castiel said. He gave Dean a thorough once-over and lay back. Dean forgot about the pie until morning. 

#

The weekend was an exercise in acrobatics and stamina. 

Castiel had a thing about kissing. He did it deeply, with a hand threaded in Dean's hair and the other working a smooth, steady motion that had sent Dean over the edge so many times since Friday night, he'd honestly lost count. Afterwards, Castiel would stare at him for a few moments with a loopy grin, and then start the kissing all over again. The condoms hadn't come out of his bag, but he was more than happy to go another 24 hours getting off in Castiel's fist if Cas kept looking at him like that.

It was late afternoon on Saturday when they’d finally exhausted themselves and decided to rest before figuring out dinner. They’d forgotten to close the curtains when they came crashing into the bedroom, so the afternoon light poured across the end of the bed. Dean was lying sideways across the mattress with his head pillowed on his arms and his face turned so he could look at Castiel, who lazily ran a hand over Dean's shoulder.

“Where did you get these scars?” 

Dean sighed. “Accident when I was twenty-one.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “It must’ve been some accident.”

“Yeah. We were on our way home from one of Sammy's games. Was just my brother and my dad and me. My mom wasn't there. I think she was working that night. Anyway, driver of an eighteen-wheeler lost control. My dad's car got banged up pretty good, but the two of them were okay. It's funny, that was one of the few nights my dad was sober.”

Castiel made a noise of understanding and continued to stroke Dean’s skin. “What sport did your brother play?”

“That time of year, it must have been football. He was always good at sports. Really pissed off my dad when he didn't go out for the baseball team.”

Castiel chuckled. “I take it your father played baseball.”

“He used to play on a league around here when I was really young. and we used to throw the ball around a lot.”

“What's he like?”

“My dad? I don't know. He's kind of an asshole. Real pigheaded.”

“But you get along?”

“Better than he gets along with Sammy. You know, it's weird. I wanted to be like him since I can remember even though he always praised Sammy more. It really shook him up when Sam took off.”

“How long ago was that?”

Dean blew out of breath. “Nine years?”

“And you said he's moved back?”

“He took the bar out there first. There was probably more work for him out there, but I think he felt guilty. And his wife—Eileen, you met her—her family’s from Ireland, so I don't think she cared too much where they lived.”

“What about you?” Castiel asked.

“I'm glad he came back. Don't tell him I said so, but I missed the hell out of that kid.”

“I meant, do you plan to stay here in Lawrence?”

Dean sniffed and rolled onto his back. “It's not like I've got anywhere else to be. What about your family? What are your brothers like?”

Castiel rolled onto his back as well so they lay shoulder-to-shoulder staring up at the ceiling. “Michael is very serious. He's a corporate attorney. We get along well, but we don't speak often. I'm closer with Gabriel. He's three years older than I am, but physically he's smaller. I used to ward off bullies for him in high school.”

“Wow. Freshman standing up for a senior? I bet he loved that.”

Castiel laughed. “I don't think it bothered him. He's never been concerned about what people think of him. I suppose that's what’s made him so successful. He's the wealthiest of the three of us. Michael will never admit it, but I can tell it annoys him.”

“It doesn't bother you?”

“That's not the life I want.” He felt for Dean's hand and squeezed it. “Should we shower and go out?”

“I don't mind staying in,” Dean said. He rolled his face toward Castiel’s. “D’you think that shower’s big enough for two?”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean accepted a mid-week dinner invitation at Sam and Eileen’s and arrived at their townhouse a little after dark. Sam greeted him at the door. 

“You look a lot happier since the last time I saw you!” he said, clapping Dean on the back and securing the lock. Dean hadn’t been over in a few weeks, not since he’d met Castiel, and his eyes fell immediately upon the new umbrella stand in the small entryway. 

“That’s fancy,” he said. He hung his coat on the lowest hook.

“Pottery Barn,” Sam said. “We still had gift cards from the wedding and Eileen wanted to use them up. But seriously, you look good. What are you doing? Are you working out?”

If sex counted as a workout, he and Cas had run a marathon last weekend. They’d fucked in every room except his daughter’s, spending the in-between time on the couch watching television, and hadn’t dressed until Sunday night when Dean left and Cas insisted on walking him to his car. Dean’s back and thighs were still sore from their shower Olympics and Cas had even skipped his Monday morning run. 

“A little,” Dean replied breezily. 

“Eileen and I have been doing yoga. I can actually touch my toes again,” Sam said. “Did Benny convince you to join a gym?”

“Uh. This is more of a home workout, if you catch my drift?”

Sam snorted. “What’s her name?”

The assumption about Cas’s gender made him scowl, but it wasn’t Sam’s fault. Dean had done his damnedest to prove he was straight in his twenties, which included jumping down Sam’s throat whenever he made inclusive statements. He was merely following precedent.

“Cas,” he said. He followed Sam into the living room. The coffee table was laid out with wine glasses, and he could hear Eileen bustling about in the kitchen. 

“Is it the same Cassie you dated in high school?” Sam asked, pouring Dean a glass of red. “I thought she moved away.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, buying himself a few seconds by accepting the glass and holding it to his mouth. He’d never liked wine, but the stuff Sam bought was usually decent. This tasted like grass. He swallowed quickly and wondered if Cas would like it. “And no. Different person. Just similar names.”

“I wonder what the odds of that are,” Sam mused. He leaned back on the couch and grinned as Eileen came out of the kitchen with a tray of cheese and crackers. 

“The chicken is almost done,” she said, sitting onto the couch next to Sam and accepting the glass of water he handed her.

“Hey, get this, “ Sam said. “Dean’s dating someone named Cas.”

“I knew it,” Eileen said. “I could tell from the way he looked at you. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Wait, Cas is a guy?” Sam asked, eyes gone wide. It had the effect of raising his eyebrows so high his forehead creased. “You’re dating a guy?” 

Dean bristled. “So?”

Sam’s made the same expression he did when he encountered a puppy, a sort of self-congratulatory boyish enthusiasm. Then he frowned suddenly. “How come my wife has met this guy and I haven’t?” 

Eileen waved off his protest and filled his glass higher. “They came into the bar a few weeks ago while I was working.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Dean insisted they weren’t dating! I watched them flirt all evening.” She looked at Dean. “Meg told me you were in with a good-looking guy the following week. That was him, wasn’t it?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He should’ve opted for takeout and Netflix. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled.

“Good looking, huh?” Sam leaned forward. “Have mom and dad already met him?” 

“No!” Dean relaxed into the couch. “Not yet. It’s only been a couple weeks, and he doesn’t live in Lawrence.”

“What’s he do?” Sam asked.

“He’s a sales rep.”

“What’s he sell?” 

Dean groaned and lolled his head back against the sofa. “Do we have to do this?”

Sam raised a hand in a gesture of innocence and rested an arm around Eileen’s shoulders. “Just playing my role as your brother. Do you have a picture?”

“I haven’t seen him since I got a new phone.”

“Is that a _smartphone_? You have a smartphone? Since when!”

“Oh, yeah, I dropped my phone in the garage on Monday and finally busted it. Cas convinced me to upgrade. It’s actually pretty cool. We can do this FaceTime thing? Lets me see him while we’re talking. And you can drop it off the second story with this case and nothing’ll hurt it. See?”

Sam squinted. “You’ve known him for how long?”

“Few weeks.”

“A few weeks and he’s got you upgrading your phone? I have to meet this guy.”

Dean put the phone back in his pocket. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Did dad say something again?”

“Dad doesn’t know. I want to keep it that way for now.”

The oven timer dinged. “Chicken’s ready,” Sam said. He kissed Eileen’s cheek. “I’ll take care of it. You two keep talking.” 

Eileen stole Sam’s place on the couch when he got up. She propped her chin on a knee. “So your boyfriend, he isn’t from around here?” 

“Kansas City,” Dean said. 

“That’s not too far. How long is the drive, an hour?”

“Yeah, about forty minutes. He lives right off of the highway, and he comes through Lawrence every few weeks on business.”

“When will he be here next?”

“This Friday.” Dean ducked into his glass to hide his losing battle with a smile. 

“I wish we’d known! We would’ve had you over then. Do you think we could meet up for dinner?”

“I don’t know—maybe?” Dean scratched his neck. “We haven’t made firm plans, but he’s gonna call me when he gets done work. He won’t know what time until the day of.”

“I can’t hear you,” Sam called from the kitchen. “Speak up.”

“What do you want me to say?” Dean yelled back.

“How’d you meet him?”

“He hit the Impala.”

“What? When?” Sam poked his head around the corner. “Are you okay? Is the car okay? Oh my god, did you tell dad?”

“Sammy, Jesus,” Dean muttered. “The car’s fine. It was just a dent.”

“How old is he?”

“You know your wife can’t hear you?” Dean said and looked at her. “Sam’s whining about the Impala and asking how old Castiel is.”

“If you don’t give him details, he’ll hound you all night,” she said. 

Dean groaned and ticked off the first details that flitted through his head. “His name’s Cas Novak. He’s about my age, divorced, got a daughter named Claire, and drives a Prius. Are we good?”

“You got hit by a Prius?” Sam said. 

“That’s seriously what you took from that?” Dean said. “Shut up and get me my dinner.”

“You can’t rush perfection,” Sam said.

“Dude, it’s baked chicken.”

“He thinks he’s a gourmet,” Eileen said. “I’m really happy for you, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, glad to have the approval of the woman who made his baby brother smile more than Dean had ever seen growing up. 

The aforementioned brother stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Why are we whispering?”

#

Friday dragged partly due to the lack of work orders and partly because Dean was so excited to see Castiel that evening, he checked his phone every few minutes to see if he’d received a text. He thought he was being inconspicuous, but Bobby plucked the phone from his hands mid-afternoon and stashed it behind the counter.

“Hey! Careful, that’s new,” Dean protested.

“You can have it back in an hour,” Bobby said. “Get to work.”

“I’m waiting to hear from someone.”

“Well, I’m sure, barring the apocalypse, they’ll still be around in an hour when you get it back. Now go sweep the shop floor.”

“Don’t you have college kids for that? I’ve gotta finish a brake job.”

“And I’m saying you’re on cleanup duty.” Bobby jabbed at him with a cheap ballpoint pen. “Get.”

Sixty-one minutes later, the shop floor was clean enough to lick, the service desk organized, and Bobby awarded Dean with the return of his phone, but he still had no messages. 

It was almost four o’clock. Castiel wouldn’t be done working for at least another hour, more likely two, so Dean mulled over how he should exhaust the next ninety minutes. Go home and get cleaned up? Wait around the shop until Cas called? They’d talked about going back to Dean’s place to get pizza and watch TV, or maybe go see a movie, depending on how worn out Cas was and what was playing. Dean had straightened his room that morning in a fit of optimism, thrown clean sheets on the bed so the air smelled fresh and spritzed Febreeze on the carpet—but this was his parents’ house. Cas knew he still lived at home, but there was a difference between meeting someone’s parents and messing around down the hall from them. If that was a deal breaker, well, they’d go out like last time and test the limits of Cas’s backseat. 

He decided to head home and shower rather than take the overtime, and loitered in the kitchen to pass the time until Cas got off work. He scrubbed down the sink and washed the dishes, chatting with his mom, who sat at the table with a garden supply catalog.

“I haven’t seen you this worked up over somebody in a while,” she commented without looking up, finger trailing over the picture of a tomato planter.

“Huh?” Dean fiddled with the faucet, fingering the thumbprint-sized indents in the copper sink, darkened from years of use. He folded the washcloth over the faucet neck and sat down across from her. 

“That’s the first time you’ve sat down since you got home and that phone hasn’t been out of your hand for five minutes,” she said. 

“He’s gonna call me when he gets done with work.”

Mary looked up, marking her place by folding down the corner of the page. She regarded him for a moment with an expression Dean couldn’t quite read, like she was puzzling out what he’d said. She put a hand over his and smiled gently. “You know your father and I welcome anyone important to you into this house.”

Dean folded his arms over his chest. “No offense, mom, but I have a hard time believing that after last time.” 

She sighed. “Your father should’ve behaved better. I’m not making excuses for him; his reaction was unacceptable, but I think he was shocked because you’d never told us. I know he feels bad for making you think he didn’t accept you. I promise that won’t happen again.”

He nodded tightly. 

“What’s his name?”

“Castiel.” Dean cleared his throat. “Cas.” 

“Well.” She slid her chair back and began to dry the dishes. “I hope I get to meet him.”

“He might come over in a bit. I said we could order a pizza, but I left it up to him.”

“If you do, let me know. I don’t feel like cooking. Maybe we’ll join you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

His mother would never invade his privacy. She’d leave them alone if he asked, but if Cas was at the house and Dean didn’t have the nerve to introduce them, it didn’t bode well for their relationship. And what about Sam? He’d be offended if their parents met Cas before he did, especially since they lived so close, but Dean would feel like a jerk exposing Cas to his entire family without advanced notice. It would be awkward enough with his dad in the house. Dean could still picture John’s disappointment when he’d introduced Victor at the barbecue, the way John’s hand had flexed around the grill tongs.

“I’ll ask him,” Dean said, giving his mom a quick smile, and headed to his room. He got lost in a dogeared copy of _Cat’s Cradle_ and fixed the time on his alarm clock that had been six minutes fast for months. A framed picture of him and Sammy, taken when they were kids, was crooked on the shelf, so he brushed dust from the top of the frame and straightened it. Would Cas be weirded out by his room? Or the fact that he still lived at home? He gnawed his fingernails and tensed when his phone rang a handful of minutes later. 

“Hey,” he said, grinning like a Roman candle had just been lit within his chest. He ducked into the crook of his arm, glad no one could see him.

“Hello,” Cas said warmly.

“We still on for tonight?”

“It’s the only thing that’s gotten me through the afternoon. I know we’d talked about going out, but I’m exhausted. If it’s okay with you, I’ll opt for a night of TV on the couch.”

“That’s fine by me. It’s just...my folks are gonna be home. They don’t care if I have someone over, but I didn’t want to shock you if you thought we’d have the house to ourselves. They’d probably join us for pizza.”

“I’d like to meet your parents,” Cas said so casually that Dean needed a second to process it. 

“Seriously?”

“If you don’t mind them meeting me.” 

“You’re okay with that? You’re not screwing with me?”

Cas chuckled. “Not presently.”

“Uh, in that case, I better call my brother and his wife, see if they want to join us. He’ll throw a fit if he gets left out. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine. I need to finish up a few things, but I can be ready to leave here in about twenty minutes. Should I meet you at your house? ”

“Yeah, you got a pen?” Dean rattled off the address and gave Cas basic directions. “It shouldn’t take you more than ten minutes from where you are.”

“I’ll see you soon—probably forty minutes,” Cas promised. “If I’m running late, I’ll text you.”

He hung up, and Dean’s heart sped up at the realization that in less than an hour, he would be introducing Cas to his immediate family as his—as his what? His friend? His boyfriend? That sounded ridiculous, but he supposed it was too late to back out now without looking like an asshole. 

Dean sent a text to Sam instead of calling. He so rarely organized the family gatherings that his involvement would tip Sam off that something was going on, and Sam would grill him for more information. 

He shoved his laundry into the hamper and straightened his comforter to smooth the wrinkles where he’d been lying on it. Nervous that he’d already sweated through his t-shirt, he changed again and checked his hair, dousing himself with a musky body spray Eileen had given him last Christmas. Sam had written back saying they’d be over soon. 

Dean went downstairs, hoping to catch his mom alone, but John was on the couch watching the news, his socked feet propped on the coffee table. Mary sat in the recliner with a book open on her lap.

“About thirty minutes,” he said, catching her eye. She smiled in understanding. 

“Should we wait to order?”

“I think so. I invited Sam and Eileen too.”

“What’s the occasion?” John asked, turning his head from the TV. 

Apprehension knocked around Dean’s gut. It was best to tell his dad about Cas outright, but he couldn’t easily shake the way John’s face had changed last time, when he’d realized what Dean was admitting. John had stared at Victor’s hand on Dean’s shoulder in initial confusion, then cursed and mumbled an excuse about the grill. He’d quietly seethed for the rest of the afternoon, sending narrow glances in Victor’s direction through the twisting grill smoke. That had been two summers ago. The barbecue never came up again. John seemed as happy to ignore that it had happened as Dean was to avoid the topic of his sexuality altogether. 

But something about this was different. Cas was someone he could imagine being in the picture for the long haul. Dean squared his shoulders. 

“I’m seeing someone. He’s coming for dinner.”

“I see.” John took his feet off the table and stared at his hands for a moment. “In that case, I should probably change. You don’t need your old man hanging around in sweatpants.”

He hesitated, then patted Dean’s shoulder in the solid, reassuring way he used to do before Dean entered a wrestling ring. 

#

It was cold, a dark line of clouds threatening more rain, but Dean went out onto the front porch in his socks when he saw Cas pull up. John and Mary stayed in the living room out of sight. 

The Prius was so quiet it might as well not have been running. Cas parked behind the Impala, and Dean took a moment to appreciate the way the cars looked end to end. The headlights dimmed and switched off as Cas got out of the car. He beamed when he saw Dean waiting for him and hurried up the porch steps. With a glance over Dean’s shoulder to make sure they didn’t have an audience, Cas leaned up to kiss him.

“Hi,” he said through a smile. Dean felt the shape of it against his mouth and slowly kissed him hello. 

“Hey.”

“You smell good,” Cas said. Dean made a mental note to thank Eileen later for the body spray. He lowered his nose to Cas’s neck and inhaled. 

“My brother and Eileen’ll be here soon,” he said, reaching behind his back for the doorknob, though he didn’t turn it right away. 

“At least I get you to myself for a minute.”

“Sorry about springing this on you.”

“I’m not,” Cas said. They kissed despite the cold, despite the fact that Dean was shivering from lack of a coat and Cas because he didn’t own a proper one. 

“You really gotta get a warmer jacket,” Dean said, pulling back incrementally. His words curled as smoke between their mouths.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Castiel murmured. He gathered his coat around both of them and kissed Dean against the door until Sam’s old station wagon chugged up. 

“That’ll be my brother,” Dean said, pulling away when Sam cut the engine. He stole a final kiss and checked that his shirt was still tucked in. Eileen got out of the car first and waved with both hands. She held a bottle of wine in one and her purse in the other. 

“Your timing is perfect! We were trying to figure out what to do for dinner when I got your text. We brought wine. Cas, it’s so nice to see you again!” 

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You as well,” he said. 

“Hey, a welcoming committee!” Sam walked up behind her in his black overcoat and plaid scarf. He’d probably come straight from the office. He swept the hair back from his face and put out a hand. “You must be Cas. I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. It’s great to meet you.”

“You too, Sam. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Cas said, shaking his hand. 

“We had to drag information about you out of him,” Sam said. “It’s been a couple years since he’s introduced us to anyone.”

“Can we talk inside?” Eileen asked, bouncing on her toes. “I’m freezing.” 

“Yeah. I’m starving,” Dean said. His teeth were starting to chatter. Eileen opened the door and went inside, calling “Hello!” as she went and heading straight for the living room where his parents were. Cas put a hand on Dean’s lower back to guide him inside, which helped calm Dean’s nerves a little, but he felt uneasy. He hung Cas’s coat in the closet beside his leather jacket. Sam tossed his coat and scarf on a chair.

“Nervous?” he asked Cas.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.” 

“We’ll go easy on you,” Sam said with a wink. 

“Is this the part where you tell me that if I hurt him, no one will find my body?” Cas asked.

“He’s funny,” Sam said approvingly. 

There was a brief discussion about pizza toppings. Sam, Eileen, and John settled on the couch, and Mary sat in the arm chair while they waited for the pizza to arrive. Since they had a half hour to kill, Mary ordered Dean and Cas to the love seat, where they sat facing the room like a couple of fugitives facing a grand jury. She poured wine for everyone except John and Eileen, who asked for ginger ale. 

“I’m just getting over something,” she said. “Don’t worry; it’s not contagious.”

“So, Castiel, Dean tells us you were married,” John said, twisting open a bottled root beer. Dean cringed at such a personal question right out of the gate, but John had never possessed what Dean would call tact, even after two decades of running a small business. 

“Yes,” Cas said. He sat up straighter and adjusted his tie so it fell straight. “I’m recently divorced.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Dean said you’ve got a daughter?” 

“I do. Claire. She’ll be fifteen next month.”

“Tough age,” John said. “Dean’s met her?”

“Not yet,” Cas said. 

“Does she live with her mother?” Mary asked.

“For now. I have her every other weekend and sometimes during the week if I’m in town. Amelia and I have a flexible schedule.”

Mary nodded. “It must be hard not seeing her every day.”

“I’ll never get used to it.” Cas rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face in a motion that concealed his mouth. “I took care of her when she was a baby. Amelia, my ex-wife, worked full time when we lived in Chicago. I was a freelance writer, so I was able to work from home.”

“And now you’re in sales?” Sam asked.

Cas nodded and drank from his wine glass, rolling each sip in his mouth before swallowing. His composure was immaculate, learned behavior from his job, most likely, but Dean could tell how rigidly Cas was sitting, the way he kneaded his leg between questions. 

“I had to find something that could support us while Amelia went back to graduate school. My job isn’t ideal, but the pay is steady and it offers benefits.”

“Do you still write?” Eileen asked.

“When I have time. Not so much in the last few years. I used to aspire to be a poet, but I don’t have the style for it. I occasionally wrote short think pieces for magazines—freelance assignments mostly, but I have a couple unfinished books on my hard drive.”

“You know, Castiel, Dean loves reading,” Mary said with a glance in his direction.

“Yes, I had heard that,” Cas said, briefly pressing his knee against Dean’s.

“Cas—is it alright if I call you Cas?” John asked, leaning forward over his lap. He held the bottle in the circle of his palms and pursed his mouth into the shape it took before he gave customers bad news. “You seem like a nice guy, but I don’t think I’m the only one who sees the elephant in the room.”

“Dad—” Dean started, but John held up a hand.

“No, Dean, as your father, I have a right to ask, and I don’t think I’m the only one wondering this.”

“I’m not doing this again,” Dean snapped and started to get up, intent on getting both of them the hell out of there, but Cas stilled him with a touch on his thigh.

“Dean,” he said, the grit of his voice grounding, and Dean immediately closed his mouth. He downed the rest of his wine with his eyes closed. “I’d rather put your mind at ease, John,” Cas said. He hadn’t moved his hand from Dean’s leg. “Please. Go ahead.”

Dean held his breath. John cleared his throat and said, “Well, how the hell did you manage to damage the Impala with a Prius? What does that thing weigh, a hundred pounds?”

He hadn’t been the only one braced for a fight. After a second of shocked silence, Cas broke his impression of a marble statue. He coughed a peal of laughter and squeezed Dean’s thigh. John’s expression was smug. Behind him, Mary shook her head but laughed, and both Eileen and Sam appeared relieved. 

The inquisition apparently over, they moved on to friendlier topics: Cas was forty; he didn’t follow professional sports but enjoyed tennis grand slams; what he missed most about Illinois was the lake; and he pleaded the fifth when asked his opinion on deep-dish pizza. What he liked best about Dean? Dean made him laugh. 

John glanced to Dean while the rest were preoccupied with conversation, his smile apologetic. 

#

Mary opened a second bottle of wine once the pizza arrived and topped off everyone’s glasses. They settled into comfortable positions around the coffee table, balancing plates on their knees and using paper towels as napkins. John put in a DVD and Dean got the message that this was family night. 

“ _The Princess Bride_? Again?” Sam asked when the menu came up.

“Shut up; you love this movie,” Dean said and threw a pillow at his head, then attempted to stuff an entire slice of meat lovers pizza into his mouth before Sam could.

“Sure you want to eat all that garlic with your boyfriend here?” Sam said, smirking. “Don’t forget subtitles.”

John cut them off. “Boys.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled through a full mouth, cheeks puffed out to the point of being painful. It took a couple minutes to chew and swallow the mess, which he did with a grin at Cas’s bemusement. 

“Do you have siblings, Castiel?” Mary asked.

“Two,” Cas said, clearly fighting a smile.

“Then this is probably familiar territory to you,” she said, laughing, and turned her attention to Sam and Eileen. “So, when am I getting a grandchild?”

Dean liked having Cas beside him, that he could casually lean against him once they’d finished eating. He and Lisa used to sit like that in the evenings after Ben went to sleep. John paused the movie to clear the plates and Cas took the opportunity to remove his tie and jacket, and unbutton his shirt at the throat. When he leaned forward, Dean caught a glimpse of his chest and hoped they’d get a few minutes alone later to continue what they’d started on the porch. 

Sam and Eileen made an overflowing bowl of popcorn and a pillow nest on the floor. Mary switched off the overhead lights and settled next to John on the couch. No one looked at Dean and Cas once the movie resumed. Since it was dark and he was drowsy from the wine, Dean slouched lower on the loveseat, resting against Cas’s side. Cas took even breaths, too regulated to be calm, and stole sideways glances at Dean every few minutes, and every time dropped his eyes to his lap where his hands were politely folded together. The room was dark, but even in the bluish glow off of the television screen, Dean would swear Cas was blushing. 

This close, he smelled like freshly sliced cucumbers, like crushed mint and laundry soap. He glanced to Dean again but held himself stiffly. Dean had never asked if Castiel was out or if he was comfortable being affectionate in front of other people. Cas had said he’d never dated anyone but his wife. This was likely new territory for him. Maybe he was more overwhelmed by meeting Dean’s family than he’d let on.

Dean brushed his knuckles against the side of Cas’s thigh and waited. It took a while, but Cas finally settled back and rested his head against Dean’s hair. 

Sam and Mary laughed at all the same parts in the movie, but Eileen fell asleep before the heroes stormed the castle. Later, John would claim that he’d been awake the whole time, but he snorted whenever he dropped off and startled himself awake during the wedding scene. Cas laughed and felt for Dean’s hand, holding it loosely between them. 

Dean must have dozed off at some point and sat up when someone turned on the lights, releasing Cas’s hand to stretch. John snored on the couch. Dean yawned and helped his mom carry the plates to the kitchen with suppressed laughter. 

“That was fun,” Eileen said while she and Sam return the pillows to the couch.

“How would you know?” Sam said. “You were asleep.”

Eileen hugged Mary goodbye. “Thanks for dinner,” she said, ignoring her husband. 

“Thank Dean,” Mary said. “It was his treat.”

“Thank you.” Eileen hugged him and shook Cas’s hand. “Castiel, it was really nice seeing you again.”

“You too,” Cas said. 

“You’d better be good to Dean or I’ll be the one hiding your body,” she said. Dean was touched, though slightly embarrassed that his sister-in-law was the one defending his honor. 

Cas took it in stride. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. 

Sam brought Eileen her coat and got Cas’s number before they left. “I’m in Kansas City occasionally. Maybe we can get lunch sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Cas said. They shook hands, business-like. Nothing good could come from an allegiance between these two. Nothing good for Dean, at least. He looked to Eileen, hoping for solidarity, but she was busy looping a scarf around her neck like a bird’s nest.

“We’ll see you soon,” she said, hooking her arm through Sam’s and leading him to the front door. Mary followed them and their voices faded to indecipherable murmurs in the hallway. 

Cas stood a few feet from Dean in the middle of the living room, his suit jacket in one hand and neck craned toward the front door. He was probably trying to decide if he should leave as well, if Dean expected him to. 

Dean flopped onto the couch and patted the seat beside him. Hesitantly, Cas sat back down and leaned into the arm Dean slung around his neck. John still snored on the adjacent couch, a funny backdrop to an otherwise tender moment. Dean stared at Cas’s mouth. 

“Do, uh...d’you have any plans?”

“You mean for tonight?” Cas murmured.

“Yeah. Do you need to be home any time soon?”

“Not especially.”

Dean’s heart beat a drum solo in his chest. He bent his arm and draw Cas’s face to his. He kissed him before the front door shut and his mother rejoined them. Cas gave him a radiant smile, and though he stiffened within the curve of Dean’s arm when Mary reentered the room, he didn’t immediately extract himself from it. 

“I swear your father hasn’t stayed awake through a movie in twenty years,” Mary said fondly, shaking John awake. He grumbled and sat up.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep with company here.”

“Please,” Cas said. He stood and began to button his jacket. “This is your house and it’s late. I should probably be going.”

“Don’t feel rushed on our account,” Mary said, helping John to his feet. “We’re going to bed. Castiel, it was very nice meeting you. I’m glad you were able to join us.”

“It was my pleasure. Thanks for having me,” Cas said. 

“You boys sleep well,” she said as they left the room, calling from the doorway, “I hope we see you at breakfast?”

Dean snatched up the remote and aimlessly flipped through the cable menu as if she hadn’t said that last part. “ _Night_ , mom.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Cas said warmly. “Goodnight.”

As soon as his parents’ door had closed, Cas put a hand on his leg and leaned to kiss the side of Dean’s neck. 

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he whispered. “Did I mention you smell really good?”

Dean stifled a groan and wondered if they’d be able to keep it down enough to have sex on the couch. They could leave the TV on. Mom and dad were probably upstairs for the rest of the night, but it was best not to chance it, in case John had a late-night desire for coffee and caught Dean on his knees. 

He sought out Cas’s mouth and kissed him for the better part of an hour, slowing to nothing but light nips and sharing air. Dean had twisted sideways on the couch, his back against the armrest and a disheveled Cas was half-sprawled on top of him. Dean’s hands were anchored in Cas’s hair. He panted against his cheek. 

“So, my family liked you.”

“I liked your family,” Cas said. 

“You swear that wasn’t too much?”

“I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.”

“You wanna take this up to my room? I get it if you’d rather head out, but I’d really like it if you’d come up.” 

“I _have_ been drinking,” Cas said. “I probably shouldn’t drive. It would be irresponsible.”

“Yeah, not a great idea. What kind of example would that set for your daughter?”

“I think it’s better that I stay. And we do have your mother’s permission.”

“Don’t remind me,” said Dean.

#

Cas took a self-guided tour of Dean’s poster collection and picked up several of the framed pictures. “I think I have a good insight into what you must’ve been like as a teenager.” 

“I keep meaning to take that shit down, but it’s not like I’m gonna live here forever.”

Cas made a slow inclination of his head, then took a deep breath. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. It’s been a long time since I felt like part of a family.”

“Course, man.”

He tossed Cas a worn pair of sweats and an old t-shirt, and discovered an unopened toothbrush in the cabinet beneath the sink. Cas went into the bathroom to change. The toilet flushed and the faucet switched on and off and on again, long enough for Cas to brush his teeth. 

Dean’s hands trembled, but he locked the bedroom door and pulled back the comforter and sheets, happy he’d had the sense to put on fresh ones. These were his favorite set, dark gray cotton softened by years in the wash. The pillowcases were beginning to fray at the edges. He undressed to shorts and first sat on the very edge of the bed, drumming his hands against his naked thighs, then decided it was too expectant and got under the covers. 

Cas emerged from the bathroom with damp hair, rubbing a towel over his neck and face, and came toward the bed. The sweats were a size too big on him; they hung low on his hips and he hadn’t bothered with the t-shirt, so his chest was bare. Dean got a glimpse of his hipbones and couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips at the promise of more skin. It had been days.

“Better?” he asked when Cas caught him staring and leveled him with a sly look.

“Infinitely.” Cas lay the towel across the back of the desk chair to dry and switched off the light. He lifted the sheet and got into bed. The mattress dipped significantly under their combined weight, tipping Dean into Cas’s side.

“So, I don’t know if you wanna...with my folks being down the hall. We could just watch TV.”

Cas slid a hand into Dean’s hair. “I can be quiet if you can.”

Dean nodded vigorously and pulled Cas down on top of him, sweeping his palms over the planes of Cas’s back, greedy to touch as much of him as he could, but Cas had other ideas. He captured Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him slowly, teasing whimpers out of Dean that probably should have been embarrassing but weren’t. He kissed Dean’s neck.

“I thought about you all day.”

The way they ground against each other, even through fabric, was perfect. Dean crossed his legs behind Cas’s back and dug his heels in to bring him closer, choking off a moan when Cas rocked forward. Dean pulled their boxers down far enough that he could work them together. It only took a few pulls and Cas came with a stuttered gasp, bristling when Dean’s fingers continued to stroke him. He shifted out of Dean’s hand.

“Sorry. Sensitive.” 

He dropped a kiss onto Dean’s mouth and rested their foreheads together, reaching between them to take over where Dean left off. Cas’s palm was smooth, hotter than his own hands, and he brought Dean back to full hardness, kissing him the whole time. 

Dean panted Castiel’s name and shut his eyes. His toes curled and the room dissolved to white. 

Cas slowed his hand but left it circled around Dean and sealed their mouths together, steadying himself with an arm beside Dean’s pillow. Dean’s eyes welled pointlessly and he wrapped his clean hand behind Cas’s neck. 

#

They got up long enough to wash, and deciding against clothes, went to bed naked, sleeping tangled together on the narrow mattress, Dean’s back up against the wall. They ran the shower out of hot water the next morning with their enthusiasm. 

Dean loaned Cas a t-shirt and jeans for the drive home and reluctantly watched him dress, doing his best to distract him with his mouth and hands, but Castiel wasn’t ticklish. Dean thought they might have been the first ones downstairs, that they’d be able to sneak out through the kitchen unseen, but his parents were already awake.

“Mornin, mom,” Dean said. “Dad.” 

John watched them from the base of the stairs to the table. His eyes fell to the gray t-shirt Castiel wore, his some twenty years ago, Dean’s now by association. 

“Good morning,” Mary said, smile curved against a coffee mug. “Please join us.”

“Mrs. Winchester,” Castiel said. He pulled out the chair beside John and sat down.

“Just Mary. There’s coffee if you boys want some, otherwise there’s tea in the cabinet. Help yourselves; we’re not formal around here. John was holding off on cooking until you two came down. Do you eat eggs?”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have waited for us,” Dean said. “We coulda fended for ourselves.”

“Nonsense,” Mary said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned over her elbows. “Besides, I want to get to know Castiel better.”

Dean lightly touched Castiel’s shoulder. “D’you want coffee?”

John made omelets and Mary asked Cas for more detail about life in Chicago, why his ex-wife had chosen Kansas State for graduate school, about his daughter. John asked what he thought of his car and shook Cas’s hand when he left. Cas fetched his overcoat and leather shoes from the front hall; they looked a bit absurd with the jeans, but he was driving straight home. He slung his suit across his arm and pecked Dean on the cheek. 

“I’ll call you later,” he said. 

The back door closed. 

Dean wanted to laugh and simultaneously nail himself beneath the floorboards. He kept his eyes on the small window cut in the door. His father’s gaze burned imaginary channels into the side of his face. 

Cas’s Prius slipped noiselessly from the driveway and John said, “He seems like a nice man.”

“Yeah,” Dean said uneasily. 

John watched the driveway through the window, close-mouthed, his eyes unreadable. Not exactly angry, but guarded. Dean could tell he wanted to say something but was holding back. He feared a rebuke, a sharp comment, a finger in his face or rough hand on his arm, the kind that would leave a greenish bruise, but John took a deep breath and forced it out. 

“It’s windy today,” he said, starting on the dishes. His voice was carefully level. “Guess I should’ve mowed the lawn yesterday; that oak tree’s dropping a truckload of leaves every time it blows. Can hardly see the grass. When’s leaf pickup this year? Does anyone know?”


	6. Chapter 6

> **5:04am** Having lunch with your boyfriend today ;-)

Sam texted at five in the morning on a Wednesday, two weeks into November. Once Dean had stopped cursing his freak-of-nature brother for being an insufferable morning person who'd never readjusted to central time after seven years on the west coast, he was equal parts embarrassed and jealous that Sam got to spend time with Cas when he didn’t.

By all accounts, their lunch went well. They had an alarming amount in common and made plans for the four of them to attend a gallery opening in February. There was talk of a wine tasting, and Cas convinced Sam to run a 5k charity event with him in the spring. At least they both knew better than to try and convince Dean to train with them.

That Friday, he ducked out of the shop a half hour early and made it to Kansas City a quarter past five. Cas was mid-battle with a cork, red faced as he tried to yank it out of a wine bottle, when Dean arrived at his apartment.

“Do you even like red?” Cas asked, exasperated. “I forgot to ask.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dean said. Technically a white lie, but a little wine wouldn’t kill him. He took pity on Cas and held out a hand once he’d taken off his jacket. “Here,” he said. When Cas raised an eyebrow, he added, “Eileen taught me a few things.”

“You’re hired,” Cas said, forfeiting the bottle. He lifted the lid on a slow cooker to check its contents and Dean got a whiff of Italian spices that made his mouth water. He opened the wine and poured two equally generous glasses, and took an experimental sip. Cas wiped down the counter and fussed with his apron ties.

“How is it?” Cas asked, laying the apron next to the sink.

“Not bad,” Dean said. “How was your week?”

“Long,” Cas admitted, picking up his own glass. He clinked it against Dean’s before drinking, maintaining eye contact. “Yours?”

“Improving by the minute. What’re you making?”

“It’s nothing special, just spaghetti with my mother’s homemade meatballs.”

“Man, you keep getting better,” Dean said. Cas blushed and looked at the floor. He set down his wineglass and cupped Dean’s face.

“I forgot,” he said before his mouth was on Dean’s.

The kiss was affectionate and unhurried, their movements small. Dean nipped at Cas’s lips, opening his mouth and shuddering when he felt Cas’s tongue. He took in in the musky scent of his cologne, the clean notes of his fabric softener. Cas tasted like wine. Dean curled his fingers into Cas’s shirt, groaning when Cas’s hands settled on Dean’s hips and hoisted him onto the counter.

“Pretty sure this is a health violation,” Dean said.

“Almost certainly. You’ll have to report me.” Cas stepped between Dean’s legs, massaging his waist as he kissed from the bolt of Dean’s jaw to the edge of his collar. He lowered his mouth to the hollow of his throat and Dean shivered.

A shrill noise caused them both to jump—the timer on the slow cooker. Cas laughed into Dean’s chest and kissed him in apology, then moved away to check on dinner.

“Smells awesome,” Dean said, hopping down from the counter.

“I miss cooking. I used to do the bulk of it, but there’s no pleasure in cooking only for yourself.” Cas used a spoon to test the sauce. “It’s done. Can you get out the silverware?”

They ate in the living room again, with fewer nerves this time. Dean appreciated the casual setting, as though they were already used to eating dinner with one another regularly. Cas was a fantastic cook, the sauce flavorful without being too rich. Dean moaned after his first bite and chased it with a sip of wine. It wasn’t the heavy kind Sam bought, lighter in color, and went down smooth.

“Cas, you oughta open a restaurant.”

“It’s not my recipe,” Cas said, switching on the television, but the pink crest of his ear let Dean know Cas was flattered by his praise.

They didn’t talk much while eating, but Dean elbowed Cas when he caught him staring and dragged a napkin across his mouth. “Do I have sauce on my face?”

Cas watched him for a breath. “I’m just amazed you’re here.”

Dean flushed. They finished eating and pushed their plates back, propping their feet on the edge of the coffee table and watched the news. Dean fiddled with Cas’s left hand throughout, tracing the lines on his palm. When it was over, Cas leaned in and caught Dean’s mouth.

He tasted of garlic, of red wine, of the rich sauce from dinner. Dean let Cas rearrange them, ease Dean onto his back and unbutton his shirt. Cas latched onto Dean’s nipples, flicking each with his tongue until Dean whined and knotted his hands in Cas’s hair. Cas got his pants open, mouthing Dean through his boxers, and then Cas’s mouth was on him.

Dean came half-undressed on the couch, with Cas still fully clothed. “Fuck,” Dean panted, covering his face with an arm. “You’re good at that.”

Cas laughed and crawled up to kiss him.

Dean took it as an invitation, sitting up and unbuttoning Cas’s shirt, shoving it from his shoulders. He kicked off his boxers and pushed Cas onto his back to straddle him. Dean mapped Cas’s chest with his mouth and kissed along his waistband, auctioning his mouth to Cas’s stomach as he unzipped his fly. He encouraged Cas to lift his hips long enough for Dean to work his pants down, leaving them bunched around Cas’s calves. He wrapped a hand around Cas that he followed with his lips.

“I’m in love with your mouth,” Cas gasped, arching up into it.

He carded his fingers through Dean’s hair and tugged to warn when he was close, resting a hand on the back of Dean’s neck after.

“Sorry,” Dean said, fitting himself against Cas’s side. “That was supposed to last longer.”

Cas’s chest vibrated with laughter under Dean’s cheek. “We have all night and all day tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if I’ve got that much stamina. I haven’t had this much sex since...actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had this much sex.”

“I need a while to recover. I should do the dishes.”

“I’ll take care of them. You cooked.”

Cas lifted his head. “You wouldn’t mind?” When Dean shook his head, Cas added, “I’ll take a quick shower and then we can go to bed.”

“Deal.” Dean kissed him and got up, pulling his jeans back on. He carried the plates to the sink and started the water. He hummed under his breath as he washed them, a cheesy old TV theme song he hadn’t heard in ages, but he did feel like walking on air just now as he dried his hands on Cas’s yellow dish towel, embroidered with a honeycomb pattern.

There was a forceful knock on the door.

“Cas, you expecting anyone?” he called, answered only by running water and Cas humming in the shower. It was after eight-thirty, too late for deliveries. A neighbor, maybe? They knocked again. Figuring it could be an emergency, someone locked out of their unit who needed to use the phone, Dean went to the door and looked through the peephole.

There was a skinny woman on the other side with blonde hair pulled into a low bun and a teenager at her side, the one from the pictures in Castiel’s wallet. _Shit_ , Dean thought, and remembering he was still half naked, retrieved his t-shirt. Should he get Cas? Put on his shoes? The woman knocked a third time.

“Castiel, I know you’re home. Your car’s outside. Open the door.”

“Just a second!” Dean called, turning the lock and opening the door wide enough to stick his head out.

Amelia Novak scowled at him through immaculately lined eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dean,” he said, extending a hand she didn’t take. “Dean Winchester. I’m a friend of Cas’.”

She made an exasperated sound and shut her eyes long enough to take a breath and collect herself. Dean felt utterly naked in that hallway, in his bare feet and tousled hair. She must’ve known exactly what they’d been doing.

“Where is he?” Amelia asked.

“Shower.” Dean had the sense to step out of the way before she barreled into him on her way inside. The water switched off; Cas would be out soon, so all he had to do was stall for a couple minutes. He smiled at Cas’s daughter, Claire, who retaliated with a frown and stomped after her mother.

“Can I get you something while you wait?” Dean asked. “Coffee? Water?”

“No, thank you.” Amelia laid a couple rumpled envelopes on the counter and surveyed the half-washed dishes. “You say you’re a friend of his?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He hasn’t mentioned you.”

“We just met a few weeks ago.”

“I see. Claire, give us a moment.”

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” Claire said flatly.

When they were alone, Amelia said, “Castiel’s choices are his business; that’s between him and God. But my daughter is mine. I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving her here with you.”

Dean knew he had to tread carefully, mindful of how cautious Lisa had been to introduce him to Ben. “I understand that. If it eases your mind any, I’m thirty-three. I live over in Lawrence with my folks. They’ve met Cas and he knows my brother as well. My family owns an auto shop. I’ve worked there since I was a kid. That’s how I met Cas, actually; I fixed his car.”

“And you and he...you are...“

“It’s not a one-time thing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She looked disapproving, yet appeased and said nothing further. Claire came back from the bathroom.

“Castiel!” Amelia called.

“Amelia?” Cas asked, coming out of the bedroom in a towel, rubbing a second one over his wet hair. He looked from Amelia to Claire to Dean, then to the calendar pinned next to the phone. “Did I get the dates wrong?”

“Something came up at the office.” Amelia put a hand to her forehead and rubbed at a visible vein standing out against her pale skin. “I need you to take her.”

“Of course,” Cas said. He grinned warmly at Claire.

“I brought a couple bills.”

“I’ll take care of them.”

Amelia nodded twice. “I’ll give you a call once everything has settled down,” she said, bending to kiss the top of Claire’s head. Claire shook her off. Giving Dean a final once-over, Amelia sniffed and walked out of the apartment. Dean flinched when the door slammed, but Castiel’s smile was fixed.

“Claire, this is my friend Dean.”

“You mean your _boyfriend_.” She spit out the last word.

“Yes,” Castiel replied easily, and suddenly the term didn’t sound ridiculous anymore. “Dean and I are seeing each other. Dean, this is my daughter, Claire.”

“Hey,” Dean said. “It’s great to meet you. Your dad talks about you all the time.”

Claire looked at him like he’d sprouted horns.

“Did your mom make dinner?” Cas asked Claire, who shook her head.

“What do you think?” she snorted.

“I didn’t put the food away yet,” Dean said. “Should I heat up a plate?”

“Dean’s going to get your dinner ready while I get dressed,” Cas said to Claire. “You sit at the counter, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever,” Claire said but complied.

Dean made of nest of spaghetti and stuck it in the microwave, then put the leftovers away and wiped down the counter, smiling at Claire, who watched him with a sour expression. She drummed her fingers on a woven placemat.

“So, what grade are you in?” Dean asked, but she only glared at him. Dean considered telling her that staring was rude when Cas reappeared in navy pajama pants and a white t-shirt.

“She’s a sophomore,” Cas answered. He poured her a tall glass of milk, standing at Dean’s side to watch her drink. Dean felt marginally better when Cas’s hand settled on his lower back, but he flinched when the microwave beeped, feeling exposed when Cas stepped away and gave the plate to Claire, who regarded it as though she’d been given a heap of maggots. Dean didn’t move from the sink until Claire began to eat in huge forkfuls and then he gravitated to Cas’s side, into the arm that slipped easily around his waist.

Dean spoke close to Castiel’s ear. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Cas said. “Unless you’re uncomfortable.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m great with kids,” Dean said and Castiel exhaled.

“Chew with your mouth closed, please,” he said to Claire.

“Sorry,” Claire said and continued to chew noisily.

“Are you up for a movie?” Cas said.

It took Dean a moment to realize Cas was speaking to him.

“I love movies,” Dean said, surprised when Cas dropped his face to Dean’s shoulder.

“I think we still have ice cream,” Cas mumbled.

“Three bowls?” Dean asked, catching Claire’s eye.

“Claire,” Cas said. He kept his tone even, but he pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging it between his fingers. “Please answer Dean when he speaks to you.”

“That wasn’t a question,” she said.

“Don’t be smart.”

“Yes,” Claire said.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, please.”

“Thank you,” Cas said. He turned to Dean with a forced smile. “Three bowls.”

“You got it.”

Dean rummaged through Cas’s cabinets until he came up with an ice cream scoop. He found the half-eaten pint of pistachio ice cream from the other weekend—they’d finished the vanilla—and divided the rest between them.

“I don’t like that kind,” Claire said. Cas took a breath before he answered.

“That’s all we have.”

She sighed through her last bite of pasta and shoved the plate away. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you go get changed for bed while Dean and I pick out a movie?”

Claire cast Dean a seething look before sliding off of the bar stool and stalking to her room. Once her door had closed, Cas dropped his face into his hands and began to slowly massage his forehead.

“You okay?” Dean said quietly, rubbing Cas’s upper arms.

“I’m sorry. Amelia’s work schedule can change without warning and I didn’t want to argue in front of Claire. I had no idea she’d drop her off tonight.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said.

“It’s not fine.” Cas lifted his face and stared at a recessed light. “I hadn’t told her about us yet. This wasn’t how I wanted the two of you to meet. I was going to arrange a lunch so she could get to know you. I don’t want her thinking I bring strange men around Claire.”

“Did she know you like men, or did I just out you?”

“She knows. Claire does, too. I thought it was best she know why her mother and I divorced.” He scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “I love Amelia, but I was drowning trying to pretend we had something we didn’t. I’m not sorry I left, but I regret what I did to my family.”

“My old man battled alcohol and it wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t much of a father for a long time. Claire’s lucky you figured yourself out.”

“I’m happier now,” Cas said.

“I really won’t be offended if you want me to go and let you and Claire have the weekend together. We can do this another time.”

But Cas bit his lip, sucking it into his mouth, and stared at him for a breath. “Claire and I are a package deal.”

Dean frowned. “I know that,” he said, but Cas shook his head.

“Dean, you’re important to me. I feel...good, when I’m with you. Better than I have in years. I wanted to wait a while before I put this on you, but it’s happened.” Cas swallowed and wet his lips. “I’ll always be a father first. And if I’m going to be a part of your life, so is she. I know that’s a lot to ask, and I understand if you can’t accept it.”

“Hey, hey. You’re getting way ahead of yourself.” Dean cupped Cas’s face. “Listen. Why don’t we all sit on the couch, watch a movie, eat some ice cream. We’ll do a proper meet and greet over breakfast.”

“Are you sure?”

“I make one hell of a pancake.”

Exasperated, Cas laughed and leaned up to kiss him. “I apologize if I overstepped when I introduced you. I realize we’ve never discussed our relationship in formal terms.”

“I didn’t mind. I _don’t_ mind, if that’s what you want.”

Cas tilted his head. “What do _you_ want?”

“Ice cream,” Dean said. “You got any sprinkles?”

#

Despite her protest, Claire finished her ice cream and fell asleep forty minutes into an animated movie about dragons. Cas settled into the corner of the leather sofa and pulled Dean back against his chest, draping an arm over his shoulder, and lightly brushed his stomach. Checking that Claire’s eyes were closed, Dean craned his head back and kissed Cas for a while, then settled against him.

“Should we switch this off?” Cas said, brushing his lips over Dean’s ear.

“Nah, it’s cute. Sam and Eileen would like it.”

“We could watch the rest with breakfast.”

“Are you trying to get me into bed, Mr. Novak?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

Laughing, Dean got up and carried the bowls to the sink, and Cas woke Claire long enough for her to shuffle to her room and close the door. He stood outside of it with a hand on the flat beige wall.

“Ready?” Dean asked, coming up behind him, putting his hands on Cas’s waist. Cas hummed and swayed back into him. Dean kissed his neck and they stumbled into the dark bedroom.

It had been a couple years since Dean had sex with a kid one room over, but the apprehension he’d felt at Lisa’s wasn’t there. He moaned quietly into Cas’s mouth, muffling his sounds against his skin and hair, the covers pulled up to his waist in case Claire walked in on them—unlikely, given her age, but it made Dean feel better. Cas obviously didn’t share his concern because he eased the sheet back far enough to go down on him, sucking until Dean was stroking the crown of Cas’s head and whispering encouragement.

He tried to return the favor by putting a hand inside Cas’s boxers, but Cas pulled Dean tightly against his chest and kissed his temple, fishing for Dean’s hand to hold it gently between them.

“Go to sleep, honey.”

Something molten flared around his heart. Dean shivered in its heat.

#

The next morning, Cas, fragrant with after shave and his hair neatly combed to one side, presented Dean with a mug of black coffee he set on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed in black sweats and a plain gray t-shirt, gently carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Wasn’t sure how you take it. There’s cream and sugar in the kitchen.”

“Black’s fine,” Dean said, voice scratchy from sleep. Like a cat, he leaned into Cas’s touch. “What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“What time did you get up?”

“Around six. I went running,” Cas said. He brushed Dean’s hair back from his forehead with a fond expression. “Claire was just asking about breakfast. I told her we have a pancake expert in the house.”

“Yeah? What’d she say?”

“She informed me this is an apartment, not a house.”

“Is she real pissed at you for leaving her mom?”

“That’s an understatement. I think in spite of everything, she expected me to come home eventually.” Cas let out a breath and kissed Dean on the lips, then tucked his face into Dean’s neck. “I’m sorry for ruining the weekend.”

“I’ve had sex twice and got to sleep in. It’s a real bummer.”

Cas laughed and gently bit Dean’s neck, chasing the sting with his lips. “I like you in my bed.”

Reaching an arm behind Cas’s neck, Dean dragged himself up for a kiss. He shoved a hand in Cas’s hair and sucked his lower lip into his mouth until Cas whimpered.

“You got eggs?” Dean asked.

“Eggs, milk, flour, butter, syrup.” There was coffee and mint on Cas’s breath. “Do you need anything else?”

“Sugar and baking powder.”

“I’ll get them out. I left you a towel next to the sink.”

Dean hid a yawn in his wrist. “Sounds good.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Cas, if you ask me if I’m sure one more time, I’ll kick your ass.”

With a final kiss, Cas sat back, holding up both hands. “Sorry,” he said, returning one to Dean’s hair, pulling through it. Dean arched up into his hand, stretching his legs, and looped a hand behind Cas’s neck to pull him down again when Claire’s sharp voice interrupted them.

“Dad?”

Cas bit his lip, pecked Dean on the cheek with a regretful expression, and went out to her. Dean sighed his resignation into his coffee.

It would be a bitch of a morning, but he’d said he wasn’t leaving. There was no reason to leave, not when he liked this guy one hell of a lot, and that feeling was mutual. So Cas had a kid and the kid wasn’t real happy with the situation. Well, what kid would be? He hadn’t wanted any type of relationship with Kate when she and his dad were together, and Dean had been an adult at the time.

Cas made good coffee, stronger than John brewed it, almost thick on the tongue like espresso. Dean drank half a mug and dragged himself into the shower.

The apartment had good water pressure, but Dean couldn’t get the water hot enough to satisfy. He quickly soaped himself and nearly had one of those slip-and-fall incidents you see on TV when he cleaned the soles of his feet. He toweled off and dressed before brushing his teeth. His skin stood out in goose bumps.

“You need a couple of those non-slip things in the shower,” Dean said, emerging from the bedroom with his coffee, now lukewarm. Claire lay on the couch tapping a small electric device wrapped in a neon-green case. She didn’t look up when he came into the living room.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, setting down a set of mixing bowls. The counter resembled a Food Network prep kitchen, an assembly line of pancake ingredients. He touched Dean’s shoulder and gave him a once-over.

“Fine, just slipped a little.”

Claire snorted. Dean tried not to read into that and waved a hand over the unopened bag of flour, a whole carton of eggs, and gallon of milk.

“It’s just the three of us, right?”

“I went shopping for the weekend,” Cas confessed, cheeks reddening. “I wasn’t sure what we’d need and wanted to be sure we wouldn’t have to go out.”

“Alright, clear the area,” Dean said and mimed rolling up his sleeves. “I got this.”

He whipped up his signature pancake batter, adding chunks of a chopped chocolate bar that Cas unearthed from the spice cabinet. “Trust me,” Dean said, stirring it into the batter. Cas watched him skeptically from behind a coffee mug, but he licked his lips when Dean ladled the first pancakes into the pan. They sizzled and began to bubble and rise. Claire got off the couch, sniffing when she saw what he was cooking.

“My mom’s pancakes are better,” she dismissed and sat with her game at the counter.

“Moms always make the best pancakes,” Dean said.

“What are the chances your mother will make pancakes next time I visit?” Cas asked. “I feel I should compare your recipes.”

“Mine’s better, but don’t tell her I said so,” Dean said. “She uses the just-add-water kind. She worked when I was a kid, so her idea of cooking is takeout. Of the two of ‘em, my dad’s actually the better cook.” Dean slapped the first three pancakes on Claire’s plate. “There’s butter and syrup on the counter.”

“I have eyes,” she said.

“Claire.” A warning. Cas scowled at her over the counter and held out his hand for the device. She tucked it behind her back.

“This is mine. Mom bought it for me.”

“You can have it back when she picks you up.”

“You can’t steal my things!”

“Fine. Put it in your room until we’re done eating and thank Dean for breakfast.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I haven’t eaten it yet.”

“Then thank him for _cooking_.”

Cas nearly spit out the last word. Dean, his cheeks on fire, poured a new line of pancakes and held his breath, waiting for them to bubble.

“Thanks,” Claire muttered.

“No problem,” Dean said, checking the underside of a pancake to see if it had browned.

“Room. Now,” Cas said.

“I hate it here,” Claire said but got up and took the device with her.

“She doesn’t mean that,” Dean said once she was out of the room. “She’s just angry.”

“I know,” Cas said. “Doesn’t make it easier to hear.”

“C’mere,” Dean said and kissed him quickly, before Claire rejoined them. She made her presence known by clearing her throat.

“Should we put on the rest of the movie?” Dean asked.

“It’s lame,” she said.

“How’re the pancakes?”

“Edible.”

Dean winked at Cas, who looked nauseated. “You hungry?”

They watched the rest of the movie on the couch, Cas tucked into Dean’s side, eating pancakes off of a single fork. Cas choked up at the movie’s climax and Dean had to admit he was a little teary-eyed when he thought the main character was dead, but there was one thing that bothered him throughout.

“Who the hell names their kid Hiccup?” he asked.

From her place at the counter, Claire snorted what could pass for laughter, and though she never lifted her eyes from her game, Dean counted it as a win.

They channel surfed for a couple hours and heated up pasta for lunch, but when he got a text from Bobby about an emergency brake job that had just been towed in, he took it as a sign.

“Would you be pissed at me if I go?” he whispered, turning his phone so Cas could read the message. “With the holidays coming up, I could use the cash, but if you want me here for backup, I’ll stay.”

Cas kissed him in response, one hand cupping Dean’s jaw, the other resting on his hip. “We’ll be fine. Thank you for breakfast.”

Dean gathered his things and held up a hand to Claire on his way to the door. “Claire, great meeting you.”

She stared at him without blinking. “It was life altering.”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned, crowding Cas up against the door, where they were out of sight. He worked a knee between his legs and kissed him, a slow lick into his mouth.

“Let me know you get home okay,” Cas murmured.

“I will. Not sure what I’ll end up doing later, but I’ll call you before I go to sleep.”

“I’ll wait up.”

“When are you in Lawrence next?”

Cas looked up as he thought, blinking. “Thursday.”

“Then I’ll see you Thursday.”

“I can hear you,” Claire said. Castiel’s face fell, but Dean touched his cheek in reassurance and jogged out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Cas called Thursday morning and suggested they meet for lunch at a little place a couple blocks from the auto shop. Dean was the first to arrive and ducked into the bathroom to wash his hands, and ten minutes later was sitting alone in a booth, drumming the rhythm to _Kashmir_ on his thighs. Cas breezed through the diner’s front door, red faced, his hair windblown, in a dark winter coat.

“You upgraded,” Dean said when Cas slid in across from him and loosened his scarf. 

“Claire convinced me that you were right. This is much warmer.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s back with her mother this week. Did you order yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” Dean knocked his boots against Cas’s leather shoes under the table, but Cas didn’t smile. “What’s up? You okay?”

“I’m concerned,” Cas admitted. He unbuttoned his coat and let it fall from his shoulders, then straightened his tie, hand lingering on the knot at his throat.

“How come? Did something happen at work?”

Cas swallowed and said, “I’m worried that we’re going to have lunch, and you’re going to give me the ‘nice guy’ speech.”

“Which one’s that?”

“The one that ends with us sleeping in separate beds tonight.”

“I don’t like that one much,” Dean said. A server caught Dean’s eye and nodded that he’d be with them shortly. Dean nudged Cas’s foot again. “Do you have to be back in Kansas City tonight?”

“No,” Cas said. “You?”

“It’s pretty rare I gotta be in Kansas City unless this is your way of inviting me over.”

Cas winced at his mistake. “I meant, do you have plans tonight?”

“Nope.”

“They have me here today and tomorrow, so I’m planning to stay in town and save myself the two-hour round trip.”

“You want to stay at my place?”

“I booked a room at the Hampton Inn.”

“Free breakfast. Nice.”

“Maybe...” Cas flexed his fingers and laced his hands together. “We could pick back up where we were on Saturday?”

“That dragon movie’s got a sequel.” Dean grinned. “Wanna get naked and watch it?” 

A bored server sighed next to the table, order book limp in his hand. “What can I get you?” he asked. 

Cas ordered a burger with everything, then screwed up his mouth and nudged Dean’s foot. “Actually, I’ll take a salad with Italian dressing,” he amended. “And a glass of water.”

“And for you?” The server blinked half-lidded eyes at Dean and impatiently tapped his pen against the order book.

“Bacon cheeseburger and a side of fries,” Dean said. “Cup of coffee.”

“Be right up.” 

“Thank you,” Cas said. He smiled until the server walked away, then lowered his voice. “You know, I own the second movie on blu-ray. We can watch it next time you’re at my place.”

“Deal,” Dean said, and Cas appeared relieved. “About tonight, I get off around five, gotta run home for a couple things, but I can probably meet you by six, six-thirty unless Bobby lets me go early.”

“I’ll text you the room number once I’ve checked in.”

The server brought their drinks. Cas discarded his lemon wedge and and drank in large sips, never taking his eyes off of Dean, who felt hot all over, excited and apprehensive about what the night had in store. He had a suspicion, from the heated look in Cas’s eyes, what he was planning to ask. He’d broached the subject delicately a couple times that first weekend, testing Dean’s interest while expressing his own. Dean was more than satisfied with the status quo, but the possibility of further intimacy rocked him. He nudged Cas’s foot beneath the table with intent. 

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Cas said. “She’ll never say so, but Claire loved your pancakes. She ate the rest for lunch after you left.”

“Food is the way to everyone’s heart. Wait ‘til she sees what I can do with bacon.”

Castiel licked his lips. “I can only imagine.”

#

Dean felt a little like he was having an affair, breezing into a local hotel with a small duffel bag over his shoulder. He ignored the helpful look from the front-desk clerk and located the sign for the elevator bank on his own. Cas was staying on the third floor; Dean held his breath when the elevator doors slid open.

Cas was waiting for him in a towel and a pair of rectangular glasses, sipping tea and going over paperwork spread out over half the bed. His chest was bare and he kissed Dean as soon as he’d secured the door. He made a stack of the papers, transferring them to the dresser, and opened his suitcase.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do about dinner. The desk clerk said there are a few places nearby, or we could order in.”

“I could use a beer,” Dean said. “Do you care if we go out?”

“Not at all. I’ll get dressed,” Cas said.

Dean bit his lip. “Do me a favor...keep the glasses on?” 

They took Dean’s car to a bistro not far from the hotel. Dean devoured a strip steak and Cas an Asian pear salad. He expressed interest in several of the cocktails but stuck with ice water, though he accepted a bite of salted caramel brownie when Dean offered. 

He kept a hand on Dean’s leg on the drive back to the hotel, and in the elevator, pressed a kiss to Dean’s shoulder and neck. He shed his clothes once they were back in the room and got into the bed, extending one hand toward Dean with his palm up. 

Dean slid his hand into Cas’s and linked their fingers, and kissed him deeply into the mattress. Castiel worked the buttons on Dean’s shirt, mouthing the newly exposed skin until Dean was shirtless, but he stalled with his fingers on Dean’s belt. 

“Dean?” he whispered. “What would you say if I asked you to fuck me?”

Dean kissed him hard in response. “I didn’t bring anything,” he said. Cas looked up at him calmly. 

“I went to the store earlier. There’s a bag on the nightstand if you want to open it.”

The bag contained a box of condoms and thick lube.

“Optimistic, huh?” Dean laughed, feeling his face heat up. He had a basic idea of what he should do, but he wasn’t entirely sure where to start, if Cas should be on his back or on his stomach. Stomach was supposedly more comfortable the first time, if you could believe the Internet, but he wanted to look at him, as lame as that sounded. Flustered, Dean fumbled the tube onto the floor and cursed.

“Please don’t feel pressured,” Cas said, mistaking Dean’s body language for disinterest, and sat up. He ran a hand soothingly up and down Dean’s arm. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Believe me, I want this, Cas. I do, it’s just ...” Dean kissed him with his eyes squeezed tight. He was shaking all over but not sure why. “I’ve never done this before, not even with a woman.”

Cas smiled gently and retrieved the tube, pressing it into Dean’s hands. “Neither have I, but I’ve done some reading and I trust you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I trust you.” 

He removed his glasses and lay back, watching Dean with unchecked fondness. Dean settled beside him and skimmed his fingertips down the side of Cas’s face, along the dark stubble along his jaw, the dip in his chin, his lips. Dean kissed him for a long, long time and finally unscrewed the cap. 

Caution kept his movements slow and small. His hands trembled. He used too much lubricant and made a mess of the sheets, but Cas whispered reassurance. 

“You feel incredible,” he said into Dean’s ear. “Do that again—right there. Oh, god, Dean. _Dean_. Kiss me.”

Dean did. And when he pushed inside for the first time, he buried his face in the curve of Cas’s neck and saw stars. 

#

His phone alarm went off at six and Dean fumbled for the snooze button, confused when his nightstand wasn’t in the usual place and his arm landed on a warm body. _Cas_. Dean sat up long enough to adjust his alarm for a half hour later, then settled beneath the covers and nudged the side of Cas’s face with his nose. He peppered kisses to his temple and cheek and ear. Cas snuffled and slept through it. 

Dean swore he hadn’t closed his eyes for longer than a minute when the alarm blared again. He switched it off and lay in the dark for a while, rubbing his eyes. In his sleep, Cas was a noisy breather, which probably shouldn’t be endearing, but Dean lay listening to him and tenderly stroked the back of his neck. 

There would be coffee downstairs on the buffet, but he brewed a single-serve cup with the in-room machine. He drank it in the bathroom and checked his messages. Nothing significant, just a blurry bar selfie Ash had sent around two a.m. Dean wrote that he’d be in soon and got a quick shower, then dressed and lingered at Cas’s side of the bed in the dark, reluctant to leave. He eased onto the mattress.

“Morning, sunshine,” he whispered, kissing Cas until he stirred. “I gotta get to the shop. What time do you get up?”

“Eight,” Cas mumbled. His lips were slack but he kissed back. 

“You still got a little bit.” Dean kissed him again and pulled him into an embrace. “D’you feel alright?”

“A little sore, but I expected that.”

“I’ll be better at it next time. Are you going back home right after work?”

“Mhm.”

“Call me about this weekend if you want to do something.”

“I have Claire.”

“Two weeks in a row?”

Cas sluggishly lolled his head side to side. “Last weekend wasn’t mine.”

“Oh, right,” Dean said. “Well, I’m sure you want some alone time with her.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah, you too. Go back to sleep.”

He kissed Cas a final time and left him to sleep, scooting through the food line in the hotel lobby for an oversized blueberry muffin and miniature carton of strawberry yogurt. He bit the muffin, and with a wink at the morning desk clerk, backed through the sliding doors. 

Dean’s heart swelled with a feeling he couldn’t name. Luck? Nah. This was so much more than that, more than he’d felt for Victor or Lisa, or even Cassie when they’d been kids and nothing seemed impossible yet. This was the big one, that thing people wrote songs and books and movies about. By all rights, it should’ve terrified him.

“Man, oh, man,” Ash said when he noticed evidence of Cas’s teeth on Dean’s neck and caught him yawning into his shirt sleeve before lunch. “Someone got lucky last night.”

Dean blushed but he cuffed Ash on the shoulder. Hell yes. 

#

Since Cas had his daughter for the weekend, Dean didn’t expect a call from him that evening, but his phone ran just after six-thirty. He’d retrieved it from his locker as soon as Bobby left for the night. The phone’s speakers weren’t bad and Cas had loaded a music app that could play songs in a specified genre. Dean had on a classic rock station, but it was interrupted by Cas’s ringtone. Grinning, he scooted out from underneath a rusty Buick, quickly wiping off his hand, and answered on the third ring.

“Hey.” Dean set down his wrench; it rang lightly on the concrete. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.” 

“Oh, are you still at work?” Cas sounded tired.

“Yeah. Got a steering fluid leak, figured I’d take care of it before I went home for the night, let Bobby get home to Ellen. You okay?”

“I’m fine. It was just a long day.”

“Your meetings go alright?”

“As well as can be expected,” Cas said. “I don’t want to keep you since you’re working; I just wanted to say I had a really great time last night, and I’m sorry it had to be so short. I would’ve liked to wake up with you.”

“Are you home?”

“Just pulled into the complex. I’m sitting in my car.” Cas’s voice wobbled on the last word and Dean felt immediately concerned. 

“What time does Claire get there?”

“Amelia will drop her off around eleven tomorrow morning.”

“Would you, uh.” Dean licked his lips. “Would you be pissed if I showed up tonight?”

“Would I be—” Cas stopped talking to cough and laugh, muffling the phone with a hand. “I almost stopped by your shop on the way out of town.”

“You’re not sick of me yet?”

“Hardly. You?”

“Not at all. How are the roads? Is it raining yet?”

“Not here,” Cas said. “If you’re serious about coming, I’ll order takeout. That way I won’t have to cook.”

“Yeah. I should run home and wash up, though. I’m covered in stuff.”

“I have six months worth of soap and a washing machine.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll finish up here and see you in about an hour...hour and a half?”

“That sounds wonderful. Is Thai okay?”

“Uh, I’ve never had it.”

“It’s spicy,” Cas said. 

“If I don’t like it, I’ll eat cereal.”

Cas laughed and hung up. Dean got to a good stopping point for the night, then noted his hours and locked the shop a few minutes shy of closing. He hopped into the Impala without a thought and called his parents about fifteen minutes outside Kansas City to give them the “don’t wait up” speech.

“That’s the second time this week,” Mary said. She tapped a spoon against something twice. 

“I know. Sorry I didn’t call earlier. We just made plans.”

“Be careful on the roads. It’s supposed to rain later. You know better than to call and drive.”

“I’ve got you on speaker.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel and sped around a car doing sixty in the right-hand lane. 

“Will you be home in the morning?” Mary said.

“Yeah, I think so. Cas has his daughter this weekend, but I’ll let you know either way.”

“Please tell him that we said hello. If you’d like to invite him to Thanksgiving next week, he and his daughter are more than welcome.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind if he was there?”

“Of course not.” His mother’s voice had taken on the same tone she used whenever she prodded Sam and Eileen about having kids. “You two are spending a lot of time with each other. I’d like to meet his daughter, especially if she’ll be my granddaughter one day.”

“Mom!”

“Would you consider adopting another one?”

“Uh...we’ve only been going out for a couple months. The topic hasn’t exactly come up.”

“Your dad and Ellen have all of the food covered, so he doesn’t need to bring anything unless there’s something specific he likes. Oh, did I tell you Jo’s coming home at Christmas? I’m sure she’ll want to meet him.”

“That’s great, mom. Listen, my exit’s coming up, so I gotta go. I’ll talk to Cas about Thanksgiving. Love you,” Dean said and hung up. 

There must’ve been a family dinner he didn’t know about, because he received a string of emojis from Sam two minutes later. They cried with laughter. 

Dean scored the same parking space as last time and Cas buzzed him in, saying he’d leave the apartment door unlocked. Dean found him kneeling in the bedroom going through a drawer.

“I think you’ll fit these,” Cas said, throwing a pair of blue sweatpants onto the bed. He sniffed and wiped his nose. “They might be a little tight.”

“Awesome. I’ll just be a minute,” Dean said, holding up his hands to show off his blackened nails. “Maybe ten.”

Cas stood and hugged him anyway, backing Dean into the wall and kissing him soundly, with a hand planted on either side of Dean’s head. “You look hot like this,” he said. 

“If I knew you got off on grease, we coulda done it at the shop last night.”

“Next time.” Cas smiled against Dean’s mouth. “Food should be here soon.”

“I’ll be right out,” Dean said, ducking under Cas’s arm. He playfully slapped his ass as he went past him into the bathroom. 

Clean and smelling like Cas’s soap, he walked naked into the bedroom and pulled on the sweatpants. They dug into his sides a little more than he’d like, but the oversized t-shirt hid the evidence. _Chicago Writers Conference_ , it said across the chest. 

“Hey, are you ever gonna let me read your books?” Dean asked, slipping behind Cas in the galley kitchen to root through the fridge. “I searched for you online but couldn’t find anything.” He pulled out two beers, the low-calorie type his dad used to drink by the case. 

“They’re just drafts,” Cas dismissed. He opened a large paper bag and set two white takeout containers and two clear containers of soup on the counter. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t usually show them to people in this state.”

“No, that’s cool. Just, if you ever want to...I’m interested.” 

“Thank you. That means a lot. If I get something finished, maybe you’d give me your feedback?”

“Absolutely. Hey, my mom wanted me to ask, what’re you doing for Thanksgiving? Do you have Claire?”

“It’s Amelia’s holiday this year,” Cas said offhandedly. 

“You’re invited to my parents’ house, if you want to come. It’s kind of an all-day thing. Small, just family. Sam. Eileen. Bobby and Ellen will be there. My old man’s gonna try to deep fry a turkey.”

Cas looked up with a guarded expression. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be an imposition?”

“Absolutely not. My mom insisted.”

“Do you want me there?”

“You kidding me? Course I do.”

Cas’s smile was watery. “Then I would be honored to spend Thanksgiving with your family, Dean. Thank you. Let me know what I can bring.”

“They’ve got it covered.”

“If I were to insist?”

“Bottle of wine, maybe? If you don’t work Friday, maybe you could hang out for the day. I could show you around Lawrence.”

“Perhaps I could be conveniently sick.”

Dean squeezed Cas’s shoulder with his left hand and took a sip of beer. It was lime flavored, not what he’d expected. He brushed his thumb over the patch of skin just above Cas’s collar and took another sip to chase the bitter aftertaste. Cas moaned and dropped his head toward his chest when Dean massaged a tight spot in his neck. 

“You feel warm. Are you feeling okay?” Dean said, frowning, testing Cas’s skin with his lips. Not quite feverish but a little hot. 

“I have a headache. I’ll feel better once we eat.”

“You go sit down. I’ll bring you a plate.”

Thai food was...different. Cas had ordered a mild variety of some noodle thing in a peanut sauce that stuck to his mouth and burned on the way down. It tasted good, though. Dean ate the whole plate and cut the heat with a second beer. 

Food didn’t improve Cas’s condition, and by the time they’d finished eating, his neck and face were pale and blotchy. He wiped his mouth and sagged into the couch, reaching for a throw and pulling it over his torso. He kept his hand bunched in the blanket gathered at his neck, his body lightly tremoring underneath. Dean knew a fever when he saw one; Sam had come down with every known childhood disease growing up and Dean knew the signs. He laid the back of his hand across Cas’s forehead and winced.

“You’re burning up.”

“Spectacular,” Cas said. He sniffed and drew the blanket tighter around him. 

“Where’s your Tylenol?”

“Bathroom cabinet, above the sink.” 

Dean brought the bottle and a glass of water, and the comforter from Cas’s bed. He stripped off his shirt and rearranged their positions on the couch, so Cas reclined against Dean’s naked chest, tucked in the vee of his legs and covered to the neck under two layers of blankets. 

Cas coughed. It sounded dry, though irritated. Maybe a chest cold or one of those twenty-four hour bugs. Whatever it was, Dean had already been exposed, so there was no point leaving Cas miserable by himself. If Dean came down with something, he had years of vacation time stockpiled.

“I’m sorry you came all the way for this,” Cas said.

“Nah. Sucks to be sick alone.” Dean flipped through the cable lineup; TNT was having a _Die Hard_ marathon. He watched Bruce Willis take down a couple terrorists while stroking Cas’s arms through the worst of his shaking, brushing the hair back from his forehead when the fever plateaued and Cas started to sweat. He conked out before the first movie ended, turned toward the back of the couch and exhaling over Dean’s collarbone. Dean was overheated, his right leg cramped from Cas lying on him and an elbow in his stomach. He’d need to take a leak soon. But he didn’t regret driving over or getting heartburn from takeout, spending Friday night holed up in a temporary apartment with Cas asleep on top of him. 

He shifted his leg as much as he could, grunting at the small bit of pressure it relieved. Cas went on sleeping, his cheek burning hot against Dean’s chest. 

#

Cas was in bed with a hundred-degree fever, half delirious on expired NyQuil that Dean had discovered under the bathroom cabinet at 4am, when Amelia dropped Claire off the next morning. She must’ve stayed in the car because Claire came up alone.

“Oh. Hey,” she said when Dean opened the door. Dropping her book bag on the floor, she kicked off her boots and slinked past him into the apartment.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Your dad’s not feeling well. He’s still in bed. There’s breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“Pancakes again?” Claire asked with a theatrically raised eyebrow.

Dean stuck out his chin. “Chocolate chip.”

She bit the inside of her lip, sizing him up. 

“And hot chocolate,” Dean added. “The real kind, not those packets.”

“Marshmallows?”

“He’s out; I already looked.”

“Fine,” Claire said. She pulled out a bar stool and sat down. “So do you live here now or what?”

“Nah, I live in Lawrence. I just came to check up on him.”

“How did you meet my dad, anyway? It’s not like he goes anywhere besides work.” She made a face. “It wasn’t Grindr, was it?”

Dean’s eyes widened. He set a stack of pancakes in front of her. “H—how do you know about Grindr?”

“I know things.” 

Dean chuckled and got out the cocoa powder. Cas only had skim milk but it would have to do. He put two mugs into the microwave to heat. “Cas and I got into a fender bender a couple weeks ago and I fixed his car. Do you know if he has tea?”

“To the right of the microwave,” she said. “So that’s what you do? You fix cars?”

“Mhm. Been doing it since I was your age.” Dean found a single rumpled packet of Irish Breakfast, probably lifted from a hotel breakfast bar. “How’s school?”

“Stupid.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t really my thing either ‘til I got to college.”

Claire looked him in the eye. “What’d you study?”

“Business,” he said. She appeared to lose interest, her shoulders deflating like a tent with a bad pole, and he added, “but I took a bunch of English and science courses, even took life drawing one semester. Kinda wish I’d studied more art.”

“My parents don’t want me to go to art school,” Claire mumbled. “They said I should study something practical so I can get a job.”

“I won’t lie to you: a job’s important. You need to be able to support yourself, but you could do that with an art degree.”

“Tell that to my dad,” Claire muttered. “You’d think he’d understand. He’s a writer.”

“I’m afraid my vote doesn’t count for crap, but if he asks me what I think, I will. Sometimes parents think they know what’s best for you, but that’s not always the case. If there’s something you really want, you gotta fight for it, even if it means you piss ‘em off. They’re your parents. They’ll still love you. Okay?”

Claire’s mouth ticked up in the corner. Dean thought she might say something else, that perhaps he’d gained her trust from their conversation, but the microwave beeped and her expression was once again one of irritation. She weeded a catalog from the tower of envelopes on the counter and began to eat. Dean took the hot water from the microwave and ripped open the tea bag. 

“I’m gonna check on your dad,” he said, walking with the tea to the bedroom. Claire muttered something unintelligible and turned her head away.

Overnight, the bedroom had taken on the stale odor of a sickroom. He’d crack the window for a few minutes to clear it. Cas lay on his back on the far side of the mattress, one arm curved gracelessly over his head, mouth open. He snored because of congestion, a rattle in his throat, startling awake when Dean set down the tea and crawled back in bed to wrap around him. A cold ribbon of air snaked in through the open window and Cas shivered. 

“What time’s it?” he slurred. He coughed hard enough to shake the bed, which thudded dully against the drywall. At least it still sounded dry. Dean pushed the hair back from Cas’s face. 

“A little after eleven. Claire’s already here. I got her breakfast.”

Cas stilled in Dean’s arms. Dean thought he might have fallen back asleep, so he brushed his lips along Cas’s damp hairline. He’d get him into the shower soon, get him something to eat. Wash the sheets and figure out something for lunch, make a run to the grocery store so they’d be set through the end of the weekend. He could leave from here Monday morning if Cas wasn’t feeling better by Sunday night, and Claire could tolerate him for two days. 

“I didn’t mean to sleep this long,” Cas said in a scratchy voice. “I’ll get up in a minute.”

“The hell you will. You stay right where you are. There’s tea on the nightstand. If Claire needs anything, I’ll take care of it. Bobby already knows I’m not coming in today.”

Cas let out a pleased sigh and the tension bled from his face. “You’re an angel.”

Dean hid his grin in Cas’s neck and kissed behind his ear. “The tea might suck.” 

He whispered to Cas for several minutes, until he stopped responding, and then Dean forced himself out of bed and rearranged the covers, sweeping the pyramid of soggy tissues and lozenge wrappers on the nightstand into the trash. He left the window open and left Cas to sleep.

#

Two hours later, Dean had cleaned the kitchen and made a quick trip to the grocery store for tea and honey, and bought ingredients to make individual pizzas for dinner. He fixed roast beef sandwiches for lunch, and he and Claire were an hour into a questionable Katherine Heigel flick, which Claire had swore up and down her mother had let her watch before, when Cas’s phone began to ring. 

It was a tone Dean didn’t recognize, the brassy wail of an old-fashioned telephone. That’s why it caught his attention. He scanned the room for the offending device so he could switch it off. It was probably Cas’s office calling. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t brought Cas his phone that morning, so it was possible he’d been expected at work and hadn’t called out, though it was pretty late in the day for human resources to be following up. 

The phone rang four times and stopped before he located it. Dean settled his eyes back on the movie and tried to figure out what he’d missed. 

It rang a second time and he jerked forward, squinting in the direction of the noise until he finally noticed the phone sticking out from under a pile of mail on the counter. He reached it in time to see the name on the screen before it stopped ringing. 

“Any idea who Kathleen Craig is?” he asked.

“That’s my grandma,” Claire said without taking her eyes off of the screen. She turned the volume up three clicks.

“I thought her name was Naomi?”

Claire gave him a long look. “Kathleen is my mom’s mom.”

“Oh, right. They talk a lot?”

“Not really.”

The phone began to ring a third time in his hand. Five or six years ago, Kate had called the house repeatedly when John and Adam—Dean’s younger half brother—were hours late coming home from a baseball game in bad weather. She was desperate to know if they’d heard from him. It turned out they’d gone for burgers after the game to avoid getting caught in traffic, and John’s phone had died, but Dean had never forgotten that fear he’d experienced in the face of the unknown, thinking something had happened to his family. 

The phone continued to ring and something cold passed through him. 

“I’m gonna run this in to your dad.”

“That’s a good idea,” Claire said, directing her attention back to the movie. “She obviously needs to talk to him.”

Dean went into the dark bedroom and shook Cas’s shoulder just enough to rouse him. “Cas. Hey, sorry to wake you, but Claire’s grandmother has called your phone three times in the last couple minutes. It said Kathleen and Claire said she recognized the name. I thought it might be important.”

Cas swallowed, flicking his tongue over his dry lips before he slurred into the pillow. “Thank you,” he said. He touched the screen to redial and brought the phone to his ear. Dean stayed where he was, kneeling on the carpet beside the bed, and Cas pulled a hand through Dean’s hair absently while the phone rang. 

“Kathy, it’s Castiel.” 

There was a pause. Dean heard a woman’s rapid voice on the other end, the words coming so quickly there was hardly a pause between them, and Castiel struggled into a sitting position. The hand on Dean’s hair stilled.

“What? When?” 

There was disbelief in his voice. The woman spoke again, more loudly.

“No, she’s here with me,” Cas said. “Which hospital did they take her to? Oh—oh.” 

He took an unsteady breath and closed his eyes. 

“I see. And they’re certain there’s nothing they can...Oh, Kathy, I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry. Should I go to the hospital? Do they need me to...Of course. No, I appreciate the call. Please let me know if you need anything. Yes, please do. I’ll fly up with Claire as soon as I can.”

Cas disconnected the call and stared blankly at the far wall. The phone fell from his hand and bounced lightly on the bed before going dark. Dean stayed quiet. The sound of his own throat working was deafening. 

“Amelia was killed on I-70 this morning,” Cas said calmly, as though he were speaking about something mundane, like the weather. Though his face was otherwise impassive, his eyes went liquid and spilled over. Dean held tight to the hand that had been touching him and took Cas in his arms, rocking him slowly, lips against his temple. 

“Cas, I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Cas blinked dazedly at him. “Is Claire alright?”

“She’s fine. We were watching a movie.”

“What am I going to tell her?”

“I don’t know.” Dean kissed his hair. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Cas shook his head. “Would you...would you wait in here while I speak with her?”

“Course. Whatever you need.”

Dean helped him up and into the bathroom so Cas could brush his teeth. He went to speak with Claire alone. Dean sat on the bed in the mess of sheets, twisting his hands on his lap, and waited. The gritty timbre of Cas’s voice was followed by a hysterical cry and a door slamming a few seconds later. It shook the apartment. 

Claire wept through the bedroom wall and refused to unlock her door, though Castiel knocked and knocked and called her name. Eventually, Dean gave up waiting and coaxed Cas back into bed. He crawled into Dean’s arms and lay shaking. 

“She won’t talk to me.”

Dean ran his hands up and down Cas’s sides but it did little to calm him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cas. Can I do anything?”

He curled his fingers into Dean’s shirt. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

After Castiel fell back to sleep, Dean cleaned up from lunch and texted his parents that he wouldn’t be home today because of a family emergency. He put in a load of laundry and straightened the living room. Claire must have spilled her soda when Cas told her about her mother; a dark stain had soaked into the couch. He numbly threw a dish towel on top of it and sat down beside it. He’d pick up a bottle of fabric cleaner tomorrow. Cas didn’t have any under the sink and the soda had already dried.

Claire cried off and on all afternoon, but Dean managed to get a glass of water into her and gave her space. And when Cas got up a couple hours later and wandered out to the couch, he laced their hands together so tightly that it was painful, and leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder. His fever raged and he clung to Dean, tightening his fingers with every movement, as though he was terrified Dean might vanish. 


	8. Chapter 8

Cas and Claire flew to Illinois for the funeral two days before Thanksgiving. Dean drove them to the airport. Since they were in public, he pulled Cas in for a hug and thumped his back twice.

“Let me know when you land.”

“I will. Thank you for driving us. Please tell your mother how sorry I am that I can’t make Thanksgiving.”

“We’ll do it next year,” Dean said.

With a lifeless smile, Cas extended the handle on his suitcase and ushered Claire inside the terminal. She kept her head down, earbuds in place, and said nothing to Dean before they walked away, but she did glance back at him over her shoulder through watery eyes. He waved after her and drove most of the way home with a strange quiver in his chin.

#

Other than a text to say they’d landed safely at O’Hare, Dean didn’t hear from Cas for the next two days. Thanksgiving Day came and went.

“Hey. How’s it going?” he asked, pausing the TV when his phone lit up a little after ten, sluggish from too much food.

“I don’t know what to do,” Cas said quietly. “Claire won’t come out of her room.”

“Give her space,” Dean said, settling back against the headboard.

“That’s what my mother said.” Cas was quiet for a minute. Dean listened to him breathe into the phone.

“How’re you doing?” he asked. “Did it go okay?”

“It was awkward,” Cas said. “Amelia’s parents and I aren’t on the best terms, but it was a nice service. They wanted Claire to speak, but she refused. I had to sit up front with her. It’s incredible the cold shoulder people will give you after a divorce, even at a funeral. I used to spend every holiday with those people.”

“Where are you now?”

“My parents’ house, thank god.” Cas sounded close to breaking. “I’m staying through the weekend. Are you in bed?”

“Living room. Everyone just left a little bit ago so I’m gonna help my folks clean up. You?”

“I’m going to bed soon. I’m exhausted.”

“You sound beat.”

“I wish I could be with you. Please tell your parents again that I’m sorry about missing Thanksgiving. I wish I could’ve come back in time.”

“You can come next year. I would’ve offered to save you turkey, but between Sam and my dad, there wasn’t any left. Do you want me to pick you up from the airport when you get in?”

“I’ll take a cab,” Cas said. “I’ll text you when I get in. I think it's late Sunday; I don’t have the flight schedule in front of me.”

“Alright, yeah, I’ll head over your way as soon as you’re back. If you need anything in the meantime, you call me. I don’t care what time. Hell, I’ll drive out there right now if you want. It’s only, what. Eight hours?”

“Seven.” Cas sighed, but it sounded like he was smiling.

#

Dean folded Cas into a hug the moment he opened his apartment door. He looked thin, as though he hadn’t eaten properly in a couple days, probably worn from the travel and emotional stress of the week. Dean doubted he’d slept. Cas buried his face in Dean’s neck, ignoring the sheen of rain on his jacket and hair, and breathed.

“I just made coffee,” Cas said after a while. Dean smelled it in the air. “Do you want some?”

“Sure.” Dean took off his jacket and hung it in the closet’s only spare inch. He joined Cas in the kitchen, straightening a week of envelopes and catalogs when Cas’s back was turned. Claire’s bedroom door was open, her room dark. She wasn’t in the living room. “Where’s Claire?”

“She’s staying with my mother for a few weeks.” Cas sounded off. He handed Dean a mug of coffee and motioned to the couch. “Can we sit? I need to talk to you about something.”

Dean knew from experience that a request to talk was rarely a good sign. His heart stuttered, but he swallowed his uncertainty with a bitter mouthful of coffee. “Uh, sure,” he said and took his usual spot.

Cas muted a holiday film he’d been watching and turned sideways on the couch, laying a hand on Dean’s leg. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it. I talked with my mother and brother this week, and they suggested I move back home.”

“Home? Home as in Illinois?”

Cas nodded. “With my current job, I’m on the road too much to look after Claire on my own. If I go home, I’ll have help with her. My whole family is in the area, and her mother’s family is there as well, plus friends she grew up with. We’ve only lived in Kansas for a couple years; Amelia came here for school.”

Too nervous to drink, Dean tightened his hands around his mug. “I see.”

“I’ve mentioned my brother Gabriel,” Cas said. “He lives in the city most of the time because of work, but he’s got a house in the suburbs he doesn’t use, about two hours outside Chicago. He offered to let me and Claire live there.”

Dean’s mouth was dry. “How soon are you talking?” he asked, but the question was pointless, the answer plain in Cas’s guilty expression. Dean’s heart sank.

“I have to give two weeks’ notice at work, but I’m going to have Claire start next semester in Pontiac. She’ll stay with my mother until I can get back.”

“Oh.” Dean swallowed. “What, uh...what are you gonna do for work?”

“I’ll figure something out. I’ve been thinking about writing again.”

“So this is a permanent thing. You’re not coming back to Kansas.”

Cas shook his head and something in Dean’s chest constricted so quickly it hurt. His bottom lip trembled and he clenched his jaw to stop it, drawing in a breath through his nose.

“I get it,” Dean said, swiping at his eyes. “She’s your kid. You’ve gotta put her first.”

“I don’t want to end things between us,” Cas said quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I tried the long-distance thing once. It doesn’t work.”

“I don’t want a long-distance relationship,” Cas said, squeezing Dean’s leg. “I want you to come with us.”

Dean blinked a few times in surprise. “To Illinois?”

“Yes.” Cas’s laugh had an edge of desperation. He took the mug from Dean’s hands and laced their hands together. “I know we haven’t been seeing each other very long, but you make me so happy. These last couple of months...Dean, I can’t picture my life without you in it.”

Dean kissed him. “You make me real happy, too.”

“You don’t have to answer right now. Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

“Sure.”

“Are you hungry?” Cas asked. He dropped Dean’s hands and the topic, slightly frenzied as he pawed through the refrigerator and got out the workings for grilled cheese, apologizing that it was all he had, but he hadn’t been to the store yet, and everything else had spoiled while he was away.

Dean put his hands on Cas’s waist while he cooked and kissed the back of his neck. Cas hummed his satisfaction but didn’t quite meet Dean’s eyes when he plated the food with an overly wide, fixed smile.

They ate and watched most of two movies without talking, leaning against each other, a blanket over both of them and Cas’s head nodding toward his chest. When Cas stopped jerking awake, Dean shut off the TV and took him to bed.

“Glad you’re home,” Dean said, kissing him goodnight.

“I love you.”

Dean’s eyes began to water at those words. He held Cas close and carded fingers through his hair, trying to imagine himself with Cas in another bed, in a city four hundred miles from everything he knew. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? With his skills, he could find work anywhere, but what about the shop? John would be pissed if Dean moved away. He’d probably lose his stake in the company, but that wouldn’t matter as long as he and Cas worked out.

It was true they didn’t know each other all that well, but Dean had never been this comfortable around another person. That had to mean something.

And if they didn’t work out, well, there was always begging.

Cas wanted him. That’s what it came down to. The change would give Dean the opportunity to open his own shop, make a living doing the kind of work he loved, and come home every night to someone he cared about. The drive home to see his folks wouldn’t be so bad, and he’d heard Chicago was a friendly place, the lake so big it looked like an ocean.

It was 2am before he dropped off. He slept badly, dreaming of a world constructed of shadows, gray and unfamiliar.

#

In the early morning, while the bedroom was still dark, they moved against each other with an easy rhythm, fingers interlocked and Cas’s smile sealed against Dean’s lips.

But he didn’t bring up moving again, not when they got up for breakfast or kissed goodbye, not when he helped Dean into his coat and Dean dragged himself out the door for work. Cas didn’t bring it up again and Dean didn’t give him an answer.

John cast him a funny look when he casually mentioned it over dinner that night. “That’s a big step, isn’t it?”

Dean shrugged. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

“It’s only been a couple months. You’re really gonna move to another state with him?”

“Well, I think it’s wonderful,” Mary said. “He’s obviously very fond of you. Are you leaving right away?”

“I haven’t given him an answer yet,” Dean said. “He’s leaving in a couple weeks. I was thinking I could go after the new year.”

“What about the shop?” John said. “That doesn’t give us a lot of time to hire someone.”

“I gotta talk to Bobby about it. Anyway, this isn’t guaranteed or anything. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about it.”

“Think fast. This isn’t a great time a year to be hiring. Everyone’s got Christmas on their mind.”

“John,” Mary said sharply. She turned to Dean. “You have my support either way.”

“Thanks.” Dean balled up his napkin. “I’m heading to Cas’s. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. D’you need help with the dishes?”

“Get going. And take a change of clothes,” Mary said. “It’ll save you time if you get ready there.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Guess I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow, then?”

“I’m making spaghetti.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned and kissed her cheek. “Night, dad.”

“Don’t be late tomorrow.”

Dean let out a disbelieving laugh and went upstairs to pack.

#

Cas put in extra hours to help with the transition to his replacement, so Dean continued to drive to Kansas City every evening once he’d finished work and commuted to the shop from Cas’s apartment. He’d cook and wait for Cas to get home, feed him, and maybe they’d get in a blowjob before one or both of them fell asleep. They spent the night wrapped around each other, and every morning, Dean woke happy.

But as they got closer to Cas’s departure date, Dean grew anxious. They hadn’t discussed the details of the move and John made a dig about Dean getting cold feet every chance he got. Cas’s company sent him on a final business trip and Dean spent a handful of miserable nights alone. Mary noticed that Dean had something on his mind and put him to work around the house: fixing the leaky faucet in the half bathroom, touching up paint on the stair risers.

“Nice to see you home for once,” John commented on the second day, cuffing Dean on the shoulder as he changed a lightbulb.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your mother and I haven’t seen too much of you lately.”

“Sorry my relationship has been such an inconvenience to everyone.”

“Don’t get worked up. Though since we’re on the subject, Bobby says you’ve been leaving at five on the nose.”

“I put in a full day.”

“Don’t think you can start slacking just because you’re leaving town.”

“If you’ve got a problem with my work, tell me to my face. If this is about Cas, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t take that tone with me in my house.”

Dean threw the old light bulb in the trash and snatched up his keys and coat. “No wonder Sammy went to California!” he shouted and slammed the kitchen door.

He drove around aimlessly for an hour, loathe to return home. Cas’s phone went to voicemail; he probably had it on mute because of work. He could call up Benny, but Benny would just want to get drunk, and if he went to Ash’s place, he’d likely be in the company of half-naked strangers.

Sam’s phone call about dinner was a relief, even if it meant fending off Sam’s cross-examination about Dean’s plans to relocate. He’d already heard through their parents. Eileen was out with girlfriends, so it was just the two of them in Sam’s living room.

“Chicago, wow! Eileen and I can come visit and see the Field Museum. They’ve got a T-Rex named Sue.”

“Why do you know that?” Dean said.

“They’ve got a great art museum too.”

“Oh, yeah? I’ll have to take Claire.”

“Cas’s daughter?” Sam said. “Is she into art?”

“Mmm.”

Sam opened their third round of beer, overpriced seasonal craft stuff he could only find a couple weeks out of the year. It was okay tasting, but hardly worth $10 a bottle. Dean drank in gulps.

“When are you leaving?” Sam asked.

“You think I should go?”

“If you love him, yeah. I mean, why not? He’s crazy about you. You should see the faces he makes when he talks about you.” Sam took a drink. “You do love him, right?”

“Why do you always want to talk about touchy-feely crap?”

“I know you’re allergic to emotions, but when your boyfriend asks you to move to another state with him, it involves what you call ‘touchy-feely’ crap. If you don’t feel the same way about him, you probably shouldn’t be moving. That’s not fair to him.”

“Course I feel something for him, Sam. I just can’t get my head around leaving. It sounded real good at first, but dad’s been on my ass and Cas hasn’t brought it up again. What if he didn’t mean it?”

“Cas is not Lisa. And dad needs to learn to mind his own business. You’re thirty-three years old. If you want to go, go.”

“What if I hate it there?”

“Stop making excuses.”

“I like Lawrence,” Dean said. “We grew up here.”

“I know; I like it here too. That’s why I moved back, but I lived somewhere else for a while. You’ve never done that.”

“What difference does it make?”

“It gave me perspective,” Sam said. “I appreciate Kansas more.”

Dean’s phone chimed, probably Cas saying he was finally home and Dean could head over. He left it in his pocket. “You’re telling me to move, but you didn’t stay out west.”

“I would’ve, if that’s what Eileen wanted. I’ll move to Ireland if that’s what she wants. They have lawyers there.” Sam stretched out his legs and folded an arm behind his head for support. “It’s just another place to live. What’re you so afraid of?”

“Their winters are bad.”

“Our winters are bad,” Sam countered. “When’s he leaving?”

“In a week.”

“That’s soon. I guess you could always go later, right?”

“I’d have to. I can’t leave right now. We’ve got work orders piling up. Bobby can’t handle all of that himself.”

“He’s got Ash and the guys. And he’ll hire someone else if he needs to.”

“Yeah, but those young guys, they don’t listen half the time. They don’t fulfill the whole work order. Dad’ll end up at the shop more, and he and mom’ll go back to fighting about it...”

“Mom and dad’s problems are not yours. The only people you should be thinking about right now are you and Cas.”

Dean glanced at his phone. “Speaking of Cas, I should get going. He was gonna call around nine. I didn’t realize it was getting so late.”

Sam snorted and wiped his mouth.

“Give me a call if you want help packing.”

#

The pickup wasn’t in the garage when he got home. Mom and dad must’ve gone out for the evening. Dean took care of the trash and recycling and vowed he wouldn’t tell his mother about the cigarette butt he found discarded next to the house.

#

The final week passed and Cas packed up his apartment. Dean drove over late Friday. Cas opened the door in a t-shirt, dark with sweat on his stomach, a roll of packing tape in his right hand.

“Oh, good, you found more boxes.” He took the stack from Dean and set them on the kitchen counter. “I didn’t think I owned this much.”

The living room was a small fortress of cardboard four boxes high in places. Cas had labeled them with numbers. Cas’s kitchen equipment was already packed away, cabinets open and empty. The coffee table top leaned against the wall.

“What time does the moving van get here tomorrow?” Dean asked.

“Nine, I think? It’s on the fridge. If there’s anything in there you want, please take it home with you. I’m going to toss everything in the morning.”

“Did you eat dinner?”

“Not yet.” Cas ripped a piece of packing tape and sealed box 29, then jotted something in a notebook. “I wanted to finish this first.”

“I’ll make you something.”

“There’s not much left,” Cas said, but didn’t turn down the offer for food.

They bumped elbows over cheese sandwiches, letting the sink catch the crumbs. Cas wiped his mouth and kissed Dean’s cheek and the corner of his lips, tucking his face in Dean’s neck.

“Thank you,” he said.

Dean ran a hand up and down Cas’s back. “No problem.”

“Have you given any more thought to my question?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it.”

“And?” Cas’s voice rang with hope and Dean couldn’t bear to squash it.

“I’d have to...I’d need to give Bobby a few weeks’ notice. It’d screw him over if I just take off.”

Cas nodded against his shoulder and brought his mouth up to Dean’s. The kiss was long and drawn-out.

“Do you think you might come by the end of January?” he asked. Dean nodded with his eyes closed, unexpected fear circling his stomach like a shark.

“Maybe.”

Cas sighed. “I can’t wait for you to see the house.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s beautiful—which is surprising, if you’ve met my brother. But the house is two stories with a big back yard, and there’s a two-car garage.”

“You’ll have to send me a picture.”

“I will.” Cas pulled back and washed crumbs from his hands. “It’ll be hard not seeing you for a while. That’ll be the hardest part for me, even if it’s just for a few weeks. Is that ridiculous?”

“We’ll still talk. You can FaceTime me. It’ll be like when we first met.”

Cas poured tap water into a travel mug and gulped the contents. He refilled it and offered it to Dean. “The rest of the dishes are packed,” he said. “I’m going to take a few things with me in the car so I have them immediately. Will you help me carry them down?”

They stripped the bedroom next, packing everything but the sheets on the bed. Cas left a stack of clothes on his dresser for morning and cleaned out the bathroom cabinets, checking each one twice to ensure he hadn’t left anything behind. Since the kitchen was out of order, they called for takeout and rearranged boxes to clear a path to the couch. Dean reconnected the TV and they watched the end of a movie and the news, and when Cas climbed onto his lap, Dean muted the set. The screen lit Cas from behind, catching like a circlet in his hair.

He could get in the car tomorrow morning when Cas did and just go. Follow him up in the Impala. Mom would send whatever he wanted, or they could always make a trip back to Kansas in a couple months to pick up his things. He had plenty in savings, enough for a down payment, thanks to the last three years at home. He could float them both for a while while they looked for jobs. So what if dad was pissed? Sam was right: it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. He’d get in the car tomorrow morning and not sacrifice a minute of this.

He wanted to wake Cas and tell him, but Cas had a long drive ahead of him. It would be a good surprise for morning; he could already picture Cas’s face, how he’d scowl at first, thinking Dean was teasing, how his smile would burst out when he realized Dean meant what he said.

#

By morning, his resolve had cooled to reason. He’d wait a couple weeks, get his affairs in order, then join Cas in Illinois. Running away together sounded romantic, but it would put unnecessary stress on his mom and the shop. He would’ve liked seeing Cas’s face when he broke the news, though.

They got up three hours before the moving van was scheduled to arrive. Since the coffee maker was already packed, Dean ran out for two 20oz to-go cups, hoping to catch Cas still in bed, but he was crouched on the floor in Dean’s sweat pants, elbow deep in a box that had been sealed when Dean left.

“I forgot to inventory this box last night,” he said.

“Won’t you figure out what’s in them when you open them?”

“I don’t know how long it’ll take to unpack. At least this way, I’ll know where everything is.”

“Your coffee’s on the counter,” Dean said. Cas beamed at him and groaned when he stood up.

“I forgot what a pain in the ass moving is.” He rubbed his lower back.

“Sore?”

“Mhm.”

“Drive’s gonna be a bitch. If you want, you can spend the night at my folks’ place, head out tomorrow? I can promise you a world-class massage.”

Cas shook his head. “Claire’s expecting me tonight.”

“Right. Are we done in here?” Dean asked, surveying the boxes, the empty walls.

“I think so. I just have to pull the sheets off the bed.”

The microwave clock read 6:43am. Dean nudged Cas with his shoulder. “We’ve got some time to kill. How ‘bout I help you relax?”

Cas raised the coffee to his mouth and drank with a satisfied noise. “What do you propose?”

Goodbye sex was bittersweet by definition, but Dean hadn’t expected to become emotional during it. It wasn’t like they were never going to see each other again. He’d be in Illinois before he knew it, but he rocked his hips gently, bending down to kiss Cas, and was surprised to feel wetness on his own face.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas asked, brushing the tears away with his thumb. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t put words to what he was feeling. Rather than consider it, he thrust until he hit Cas’s sweet spot and reduced him to moans, then chased him over the edge. They held hands for a long time and kissed and didn’t speak.

The moving van arrived twenty minutes early and Dean watched men in heavy work pants and boots carry box after box from the apartment until only the couch remained. They turned it on its side to wedge it through the door and into the hallway, and with one shove, the apartment was empty.

“I’m not going to miss this place,” Cas said, looping an arm around Dean’s waist. He rested his head on Dean’s shoulder until one of the movers came with paperwork for Cas to sign.

“Thanks again,” Cas said for the countless time, sighing when the front door closed. It felt like death.

Dean crossed his arms. “Guess you’d better hit the road, huh?”

“I should. It’s a long drive and I’ll need to stop a few times.”

“You okay doing it in one haul?”

“If I get tired, I promise I’ll stop.” Cas took a deep breath and twisted the apartment key from his keychain. He laid it on the kitchen counter and closed the door behind them.

Boxes were stacked to the roof of the Prius, taking up the entire trunk and the small back seat. “Good thing you’ve got a back-up camera,” Dean said with false cheer. He secured the trunk and shuffled around to stand outside the driver’s side door. “I guess this is it.”

Cas’s breath was visible in the cold air. “Thank you for all your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Dean gripped him in a fierce hug and Cas held him, burying his face against Dean’s neck. He made no sound, but Dean felt wetness too hot to be snow.

“Oh,” Cas exclaimed suddenly. His eyes, dry all morning, were suddenly red-rimmed; his voice tight. He pulled something from his coat, a small wrapped package the size and heft of a book. “This was supposed to be for Christmas.”

Dean found it hard to swallow. “Should I open it now?”

Cas shrugged but nodded simultaneously and Dean tore the edge of the meticulously wrapped brown paper, opening it just enough to read the book’s title along the spine.

“You said you’ve never read it,” Cas said. He smiled and wiped his eyes. “I thought you should own your namesake.”

Dean held the book against his chest and Cas with his other arm, and kissed him properly, unconcerned with their surroundings for once. “Promise you’ll call when you get in tonight?”

Cas kissed his cheek. “I will. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

#

Cas called that night while the Winchesters were eating dinner. Dean excused himself from the table and went into the living room for privacy.

“I bet Claire’s happy you’re there,” he said.

“I think so,” Cas said. He yawned generously. “She’d never say so, but I know she’s glad to be home.”

“How was your drive?”

“Long but uneventful. I’m now a connoisseur of rest stops.”

“Roads okay?”

“They were fine. I didn’t hit any snow until I was about an hour away. It’s dark out or I’d send you a picture.”

Dean grinned. “Send me one tomorrow.”

“I will. My brother is here and we got everything transferred from the car inside the house. I’m exhausted but I can’t go to bed yet. My mother just arrived with Claire and we’re about to eat dinner.”

“Go to bed after that. They know you just drove all day.”

Claire shouted something indecipherable in the background, and Cas sighed. “I’m sorry, Dean—I have to go and eat dinner, but I’ll call you before I go to sleep. You spoiled me by staying over so much recently; I’m not sure I can fall asleep without hearing your voice.”

“I’ll keep my phone on me. Glad you made it there okay.”

“I love you so much. I’ll talk with you soon.”

“You too. Bye.”

Guilt dropped like an anvil in his stomach. He returned to the dinner table

“Did Cas make it home okay?” Mary asked once Dean had resumed his seat at the table.

“Yeah, he’s good. His daughter’s with him. They’re eating dinner.”

“I’m sure she’s happy to see him again. How do the two of you get along? You’ve never said.”

“She’s a spitfire. I don’t think she liked me too much at first, didn’t say much if I was around, but I guess I wouldn’t be too happy if my dad was seeing someone besides my mom. Especially after what just happened.”

Mary stopped eating and wiped her mouth. “You might let her know you understand her situation.”

“Shit, mom, I’m sorry,” Dean said, noting his father’s sudden stiff posture. “I wasn’t talking about you two.”

“I know you weren’t,” Mary said. “Losing a parent is hard no matter what age you are. I can’t imagine losing one at her age. Be patient with her. You’ll find it’s not easy being a parent, but it is rewarding.”

“She’s not my kid.”

“Sounds like she will be,” John said. He stabbed a piece of steak with his fork.

“Nothing’s final yet,” Dean said.

“If you think you’ll need cookware, you can take the extras in the attic,” Mary said. “I was going to sell them at a yard sale.”

“Cas has stuff. It’s his brother’s house.”

“So it’ll be you, Cas, his daughter, and his brother?” John said. “Isn’t that a little cozy?”

“His brother lives in the city. This is a second house.”

“Wish I had that kind of money,” John muttered. “Must be nice.”

“What’s Cas doing for work?” Mary asked.

“Not sure yet,” Dean said. “Think he’s going to write for a while.”

John snorted.

“You got something against Cas all of a sudden?” Dean said.

“I have a problem with the fact that my son is prepared to drop everything and move across the country with a man who doesn’t own his own home and is going to write for a living. How are you going to support yourselves?”

“I can get a job, and I’ve got savings.”

“You’d better be prepared to live with the consequences of your decision. I’m not holding your job for you.”

“That’s enough, John,” Mary said. “Dean, if you’re finished eating, I need to speak with your father in private.”

“Yeah, I’m done.”

He shoved back from the table and took the stairs up to his room, pausing to listen from the landing. If you stayed still, you could hear every word of even quiet conversations.

His parents weren’t bothering to keep their voices down. They hadn’t argued like this in almost a year and he recalled his childhood, shielding Sammy from his dad’s raised voice by playing his music too loud and catching hell for it later.

“It’s a little fast,” he heard Mary say, “but you and I didn’t wait much longer to get married, and we were ten years younger than they are.”

“I went along with this, Mary, but Illinois? How the hell can you support this?”

“You wanted him to go when Lisa left! Why is this any different?”

“I don’t know,” John said. “I don’t want him making a mistake he’s going to regret. Has he thought about what this is going to do to the rest of us? There are plenty of nice girls around town. Hell, Jo always liked him! If he wants a family so badly, I don’t see why he can’t settle down with her.”

Dean felt like he’d been punched. His mother began to argue a counterpoint, but Dean backed away from the staircase rather than continue listening. He locked himself inside his bedroom before he hit something.

He read a few chapters from the book Cas had given him to calm down, then dozed off and woke when his phone buzzed near his ear. Cas had sent an exterior daytime shot of a two-story house in a tidy development. It had dormers over the second-story windows, pale gray siding, stonework surrounding the twin garage doors, and a small covered porch. A concrete path curved toward the front door. More pictures followed: a kitchen of dark stained wood and glossy white counters, wainscoting in the dining room, a master bath with a two-person Jacuzzi.

“I forgot I had these pictures,” Cas said when he called a few minutes later. “They’re from when he bought it.”

“Gabe expects you to move out eventually, right?” Dean said. He was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, toothbrush sticking out of one side of his mouth.

“I doubt he’d object if I needed to stay indefinitely. He rarely uses the house. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, I’m upstairs.”

“Claire’s asleep,” Cas said quietly, as if he was confiding a secret. Dean heard the rustle of sheets and a pleased grunt that escaped Cas’s lips when he got into bed.

“Should I ask what you’re wearing?”

“It’s your shirt. I must’ve packed it by mistake. It was at the top of my suitcase. What about you?”

“Boxers.” Dean double checked the door lock and climbed into bed himself.

“I miss your hands. I miss everything about you. Dean, I wish you were here already.”

With the phone tucked between his pillow and ear, Dean came embarrassingly fast listening to the rough way Cas panted his name. He sent Cas a shadowy photo of the aftermath and received a grainy picture of Cas’s blissful expression in return.

“I think I forgot my blue sweater at your house,” Cas said once they’d quieted. If Dean closed his eyes, he could almost pretend Cas was lying on the second pillow.

“I’ll mail it to you,” he said after a while.

“I don’t need it right now. You can bring it with you when you drive up.”

Dean was quiet.

“Are you still there?” Cas said.

“Hmm? Sorry. Yeah, I’ll bring it.”

“You sound tired.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night and my dad was being a dick at dinner.”

“About what?”

“Nothing. Just work stuff.”

“I don’t know what this week is going to look like—the moving truck comes tomorrow, and I’ll be job hunting, but I’ll call you in the evenings.”

“Okay. You get some sleep.”

“I will. Goodnight, Dean.”


	9. Chapter 9

It felt like December had just started when Dean checked the calendar and realized it was five days until Christmas.

“Did you think I had this Santa hat on for _fun_?” Bobby asked, scowling as he flicked the pom pom. “Your mom claims it adds holiday cheer to the office. What’d you get your boyfriend?”

“I haven’t gone shopping.”

Bobby’s expression soured, which is how Dean found himself in a jewelry store on 23rd Street staring into a case of watches.

“Is there anything particular I can help you find?” the salesman asked, hands clasped politely behind his back.

Dean gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Just browsing.”

“Of course. We have a special promotion through the twentieth; engagement and wedding rings are 30% off. My name’s Ian if you need anything.”

He had no idea what possessed him to look at a ring, let alone haggle on the price before saying he had to think about it. He didn’t know Cas’s ring size, for one, and Dean hadn’t even officially said yes to moving. Why was he thinking about marriage?

His father’s voice followed him from case to case.

_I don’t want him making a mistake he’s going to regret._

Dean went empty handed out into the cold and settled on a leather-bound notebook. “Write something great,” he wrote inside the cover along with his name. He picked out a card to send to Ben in Indiana with some cash, another for Adam, and a small sketchpad for Claire. He thought of saving it until after the move, so he could see her face when she opened it, but he tucked the sketch pad along with the notebook in a flat-rate box.

#

“Did Bobby find anyone to replace you yet?”

There was a slicing noise; Cas had cut open another shipping box and was unpacking the contents. Dean had his camera propped on his nightstand so they could see each other. He fumbled a roll of wrapping paper, trying to wrap a set of gardening tools for his mom. The varying shapes made it nearly impossible. He should’ve opted for a gift bag. Maybe they had one in the storage room.

“Huh? Oh, not yet,” Dean said. The truth was, they hadn’t advertised the position because Dean hadn’t given notice. “You got any big plans for tonight?”

“We always go to my mother’s for Christmas Eve,” Cas said, sounding annoyed about it.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It tends to devolve into an inquisition about my personal life, though they’ll probably go easy on me this year. What’s your family doing?”

“Sam and Eileen are going to Ireland spend the holiday with her family, so it’s just me and my folks.”

“Maybe everyone can come to our house next year.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Doubt my old man would make the trek.”

“It was just an idea.” Cas took a drink of water. His hair was disheveled, like it had been the evening they met. “Oh, I meant to tell you—I have an interview on Monday. It’s not full time; it’s a sales associate position, but it would bring in some money while I look for something permanent.”

“That’s great.”

“And…” Cas looked sheepish. “I looked up the best-rated auto shops in the area. I have the information written down, if you want to call and see what might be available. I can email it to you.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“No, I know,” Dean said. He gave up on the wrapping paper and threw it aside. “I appreciate it.”

“Is something wrong? You look upset.”

“Nah, I just...can’t figure out how to wrap this. Next year, everyone’s getting gift cards.”

Cas laughed and opened his mouth to say something, but Claire’s voice cut in. “Dad, Uncle Mike here!”

“I have to go.” Cas sighed but he smiled for Dean. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Have a good time with your family. Tell Claire hi for me.”

“I will.” He hung up. Dean hadn’t asked if his gift arrived and felt like a jackass.

#

Christmas morning at his parents’ house had been the same since Dean could remember. Dad would put on the same holiday music they listened to every year and they’d drink coffee while opening stockings.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drive up to Illinois for the holiday,” John said, tipping the contents of his onto the coffee table. He chuckled at the gift card to his favorite restaurant and pecked Mary on the cheek.

Dean drank the grainy remains of his coffee. “Cas is with his family. Besides, what would you do without me here?”

Mary smirked and leaned into John’s side. “We’d occupy ourselves.”

“Aw, gross.”

“I’m going to make more coffee,” she said and left the room.

John sat forward and laced his hands together between his knees. “Bobby tells me you haven’t given him notice.”

“Not yet.”

“I thought you were planning on moving next month?”

“I thought you said me going was a mistake?”

John looked surprised. “When did I say that?”

“The walls in this house aren’t as thick as you think.”

“You were eavesdropping on your mother and me?”

“What if I was?” Dean said. “Do you deny you said it?”

His dad sighed and sat back. “Look, Dean. I’m trying to be open minded about this, but I’m having a hard time understanding why you’d throw your life away for some guy.”

“You said you liked him! Mom invited him for Thanksgiving!”

“I do like him,” John said. “That’s why I didn’t say this to your face; I don’t want to insult him. He’s a nice man. But he’s a man.”

“And you’re worried what people are going to think about you when they find out, is that it?”

“I’m your father; I’ll defend you with my life. I’m worried about you. It’s one thing to fool around but it’s another to make a commitment like this. The world’s different than it was when I was growing up, Dean, but there’s plenty of bigots out there. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You think I do?”

“I think you’re rushing into this prematurely. You’d be better off staying here, see how things go for a few months. If you still want to move up there next summer, I’ll drive you myself.”

Dean stared at him in defeat.

“Everything okay?” Mary asked. She returned with a silver tray stacked with coffee cake.

“Fine,” John said. He pulled a package in shiny red paper from beneath the tree and handed it to her. “This one’s got your name on it.”

#

Mid-morning, Cas sent a text saying “Merry Christmas” along with a picture of a tabletop Christmas tree dwarfed by gifts. A second picture came through of Claire holding up the sketch pad Dean had sent her, and a third of Cas with the leather notebook.

He called as Dean was relaxing after lunch. “My living room is a sea of wrapping paper.”

“Lots of gifts, huh?”

“My mother was extremely generous. Claire won’t need to go shopping for a while. Thank you for the notebook.”

“Looked like you.”

“I love it.”

“Good.”

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“I know you’re still working, but if you want to come up for New Year’s, my mother invited you to her house for the party. I told her I didn’t think you could make it, but I’d pass along the invitation.”

“Thanks, but that’s a lot of driving for a weekend.”

“I could fly you up?”

“No,” Dean said quickly. “That’s real nice but I, uh. Fear of flying.”

“I told her it was a long shot. I meant to ask yesterday—when’s your last day?”

“Uh...I don’t have a firm date.”

“But you’re still thinking end of January? For the move?”

“Oh, yeah. January, or maybe early February, soon as I know Bobby’s squared away. I don’t want to leave him hanging.”

Cas was silent for a moment. “It’s your father’s business, Dean. It’s not yours.”

“It’s my _family’s_ business.”

“I know that,” Cas said carefully. “I understand about not wanting to let down family, but—”

“But what? Maybe it’s easy for you to walk away from people in your life, but that ain’t me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair? You expect me to drop everything, like moving in with you is the only important thing I’ve got going on, and I don’t need it, alright? I got my dad on my ass telling me we’re moving too fast, while Sam and my mom are practically packing my fucking bags.”

“I’m sorry your father’s being difficult. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” Dean said.

“How can I help if you won’t talk to me?”

“Like how you talked to me about moving before you up and did it?”

Castiel didn’t say anything for nearly a full minute, swallowing several times and drawing in a long breath before he spoke again.

“You know why I left, and it had nothing to do with you and me. Driving away from you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. ”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Dean said, trying to inject a soothing note into his voice. He didn’t understand how a conversation about Christmas morning had shifted into a fight. “I’m sorry. It’s great what you’re doing for her.”

“I want you to answer me something,” Cas said. His tone had become cold and clinical, the way it had been the day they met.

“Anything.”

“Did you ever have any intention of coming with me?”

Dean saw red at the accusation. “You think I was just fucking with you? That’s really what you think of me?”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s a reasonable question. You’ve been vague about the topic since I brought it up. I know it was fast; I know it was a lot for me to put on you, but I’m not asking for a lifelong commitment here. I don’t have the desire to go through another divorce anytime soon.”

Dean recalled the weight of a platinum wedding band in his palm and felt like a fool for ever walking into that jewelry store.

“Wow, that’s...that’s reassuring, Cas, thanks. I’m glad to know that’s where we stand.”

Cas sighed into the phone. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“If this is how we’re going to speak to each other, maybe we shouldn’t talk for a while.”

Dean knew a bluff when he heard one, so he called Cas on his. “Fine.”

Cas’s following hesitation was painful. “I...” he started to say. His voice cracked, as though he’d never expected Dean to agree with him.

This was the point where Cas was supposed to say he was sorry. Dean would say he was too and they’d make it up to each other later.

He didn’t expect Cas to clear his throat and say, “Please wish your family a Merry Christmas for me. Goodbye, Dean.”

The line went dead.

Dean stared in disbelief at the flashing minute and second indicator, and then his phone returned to its home screen and went dark.

His heart beat in his stomach. It beat everywhere. He was hyper aware of it, of roughness in the back of his throat that made it uncomfortable to swallow. The hallway clock ticked out a faint rhythm and he could hear a bird repeatedly calling a mournful note outside. His parents were downstairs talking in the living room, mom’s laughter underwritten by his dad’s gravelly chuckle and it came crashing down on Dean with frightening clarity that Cas had just ended things between them.

With a shaking hand, he thumbed to Cas’s number and re-dialed ( _Hi, you’ve reached Castiel Novak. I’m not available. Please—_ ), but Cas didn’t pick up, not after the fourth call ( _Hi, you’ve reached Casti—_ ), the fifth ( _Hi, you’ve reach—_ ).

Dean waited twenty minutes and tried again ( _Hi—_ ), but Cas didn’t answer, and the last time he tried, the line only rang twice before he was sent to voicemail. Dean chilled, knowing Cas had rejected his call.

His text messages also went unanswered.

> **12:30pm** im sorry. please talk to me
> 
> **12:32pm** i dont want to leave things like this
> 
> **12:48pm** please pick up
> 
> _Delivered_

It came up inside of him like a pot set to boiling, fury gathering below the surface as the temperature ticked up. Fuck Cas. Fuck his dad, the car, that stupid dog that had run across Main Street, the way Cas looked at Dean just before he kissed him, the four hundred miles between them. Fuck Cas for fitting so easily into Dean’s life.

He threw his phone against the wall.

“Dean?” Mary called from downstairs. “Everything okay?”

He clenched his jaw as hard as he could and pressed his hands over his mouth to muffle himself until he could speak. “Fine.” He stooped to pick his phone where it had fallen behind the bed. Not one scratch. He dipped his thumb into the new indentation in the drywall. From a few feet away, no one would notice it. “I’m fine. Just dropped something.”

“Well, come downstairs. Your brother’s on the phone.”

#

Sam and Eileen had called on video chat from Ireland to announce their big news: a new addition to the Winchester family, due the first week in June. It hit Dean like a freighter.

“Oh, I knew it!” Mary said as soon as Eileen got the words out. She squeezed John’s knee and leaned into his side. “I’m going to be a grandmother. Are your parents thrilled?”

“They’re so excited,” Eileen said.

“Her dad cried,” Sam said. “We wanted to tell you at the same time, but it was too hard to coordinate with the time zones. We’re just sitting down to dinner, but I’ll give you guys a call later. What time are you going to Bobby’s?”

“We’ll head over in a few hours,” John said. “Congratulations, both of you. The next generation.”

Dean formed his mouth into a smile. “I’m real happy for you two,” he said.

“Thanks, Dean. I’ll see you when I get back.”

They hung up. Dean spent the better part of a minute digging under his fingernails and fighting the quiver in his chin.

Mary sensed the change in Dean’s mood immediately, her brow creasing as she ran a hand over his hair and scrutinized his face, as though she could discern the cause from his expression. “I know you miss him, sweetheart, but you’ll be together soon.”

“Yeah.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t push further, just stroked his hair until he’d had enough and gently shook off her hand. He needed to get out of the house for a while. If he sat in this room, on the couch where he’d sat with Cas, or went upstairs to his room where they’d slept together, he’d claw out of his skin. He was happy for Sam, but that happiness was polluted by his jealousy. Sam was the rebel in the family. Dean had always been the good son, did things the way his father said they out to be done, and look where that loyalty got him?

“I’m heading to the shop for a while,” he said, slapping his knees and standing up.

“It’s Christmas,” John said.

“Yeah, but I ran late on a job. I want to put in a couple hours before dinner. Do you need me for anything here?”

Mary shook her head. “We’re going by Ellen and Bobby’s later. Don’t forget. Jo’s in town.”

“I’ll be back by then.”

“Just think,” Mary said wistfully. “This time next year, Sam and Eileen will have a baby. Maybe you and Cas can drive down for the holiday.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Dean said. He kissed her cheek and ducked outside before he cried.

#

Going to the shop wasn’t the best idea. Alone in the cold garage, underneath a lemon with no one to distract him, he replayed the conversation with Cas and tried to pinpoint where it had gone wrong. His own vague answers to Cas’s inquiries about Dean’s travel plans sounded like bullshit now that he thought about them and, yeah, maybe Cas had a right to be pissed. Dean had been dragging things out. He hadn’t sat down with Bobby to discuss leaving, that was true, but it wasn’t because he didn’t care about Cas.

He wanted to call again and apologize, but what Cas had said about commitment, the dig about divorce—Dean felt like an idiot knowing he’d stared into a jewelry case a few days ago and imagined slipping an engagement band on Cas’s finger. He hadn’t been stringing him along. He worked the wrench until his shoulder burned.

Fifteen minutes into the job, he turned on his music app, hoping some classic rock would take the edge off, but even his favorites were just noise on top of Cas’s voice.

_I’m not asking for a lifelong commitment._

The music played and Dean felt nothing but anger.

He switched it off and hit up the break room for something salty. Ash had finished the tub of peanuts—there was a note on the bulletin board for something to pick up a new tub during the next store run—so Dean dug in his pockets for spare change and got a PayDay from the vending machine in the waiting room. He ate it with a shitty cup of coffee from the machine in back and felt marginally better.

Cas needed some time to cool off. A while, he’d said. Not forever. They were on a break. People took breaks. His parents had separated for almost a year when he was early twenties, before John got himself into meetings and got his drinking under control. That’s when he’d met Kate, and Dean and Sam had gained a half-brother. Adam lived in Minnesota with his mom. Sam kept up with him on Facebook—nice kid. Smart. Sometimes Sam showed him pictures, and Dean had to admit he could see a resemblance. Kate was real nice, too, and supportive when John decided to come home and get help.

If his parents could bounce back from that and still be happy enough to laugh with each other over sitcoms, he and Cas could survive one argument.

He left his phone on the workbench and switched on some of Ash’s mullet-rock, calmer since his revelation. He finished up the job in under two hours and jotted notes on the work order, even powered up the computer to enter his hours so Ash wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow.

#

Dean spent the remainder of the day in a hazy state of non-reality. Once he got home, Mary had him pick up the last bits of wrapping paper from under the tree and run the vacuum to clear the pine needles. Then she ordered everyone upstairs to change, and they headed for Bobby and Ellen’s.

They’d had Christmas dinner with the Singers since Dean was in high school. Bobby answered the door in a burgundy sweater and slicked-back hair. _Jingle Bell Rock_ was playing faintly in the background and the scent of cinnamon drifted out to meet them.

“About time you got here,” Bobby said. “Jo’s been eyeing those pies since they came out of the oven. Neither one of us is allowed in the kitchen. Come inside; we’ve got the fire going.”

“Merry Christmas, Bobby,” John said and slapped his shoulder on the way in.

“These are for you,” Mary said and passed Bobby a shopping bag of gifts. “I’ll give Ellen a hand.”

“Me too,” Dean said, heading in the direction the scent of food was strongest, but Jo intercepted him.

“What's this about a boyfriend? Why am I the last person to hear about this?”

He rubbed her hair in the way she hated. “Why the hell would I tell you about my personal life, squirt?”

“Where is he?” she said, ducking from his reach. “Did he come with you?”

“He's in another state. Your mom got any beer?”

Jo was on his heels all the way into the kitchen. “Another state?”

“Yeah. He and his daughter moved back to Illinois a couple weeks ago.”

“For good?”

“Yep,” Dean said.

The kitchen looked like a holiday bomb had gone off. The central island was covered in mismatched serving dishes and crockery with Ellen's usual spread: ham, cranberry walnut salad, golden mashed potatoes, and a couple different seasonal casseroles. Ellen and his mom were whispering beside the sink.

“Look at the two of you, all grown up,” Ellen said. “It's a shame Sam's not in town this year. I won't get my annual picture.”

“You might not get one next year either,” Mary said.

“Why not?”

“Dean's moving to Illinois after the new year.”

Jo smacked Dean in the arm. “Why didn't you tell me that?”

“It's not set in stone!” Dean laughed, because if he didn't laugh he was afraid they'd be able to infer the fight through sheer female intuition.

“Do you have a picture of this young man?” Ellen asked. The last thing Dean wanted was to see Cas’s face right now, but if he refused, he'd have to come clean about the breakup to his parents and the Singers in the same evening.

He whipped out his phone. There were a couple pictures he downloaded and he passed them to Ellen.

“I like his eyes,” she said. “It must be serious if you're thinking of moving.”

There was a roadblock in Dean's throat, so he merely nodded.

“It's a big step but it's worth it if things work out,” Ellen said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Ellen looked at him strangely, then nodded toward the fridge. “Help yourself. I bought the kind you like so I didn't have to listen to you complain. And you…” She rounded on Jo. “Where's this supposed boyfriend of yours?

“He had to work!” Jo said.

“And you gave me shit about my personal life?” Dean said.

“We've only been dating for two months! I didn't want to jinx it.”

Ellen huffed. “Dean, how long have you been going out with—what's his name again?”

“Castiel,” Mary said.

“Actually, we just met recently.”

“Well. When you know, you know.” Ellen said. “I knew the first time I met Bill.”

“No kidding,” said Dean. “What about Bobby?

“With Bobby, it was different. Course that was because he was on a rampage about something at the time. It's a miracle that man hasn’t up and died from a stroke.” She looked at Dean. “What are you going to do for work in Illinois?”

Dean shrugged. “Gotta be a shop somewhere that's hiring.”

“You kids grow up so fast.” Ellen sighed. “Help me carry these dishes to the table.”

#

Bobby and John spent most of dinner discussing cars they'd like to restore, since directly talking about work had been banned from the holiday table ever since the year Sam left for California.

“I told Dean that he could use the second garage this winter, take on some restoration work. Maybe Bobby will be your first customer.”

Bobby frowned at Dean. “Thought you were moving.”

“Oh, right,” John said. “Looks like I'll have a place for the treadmill after all.”

“About that…” Dean cleared his throat. “See, the thing is, Cas and I—”

Mary's phone began to ring. “It's Sam and Eileen!” she said. “They’re in Ireland. He has something to tell everyone, so I'll put him on speaker. Sam, can you hear me? We're at Ellen and Bobby's. Jo's here.”

“Hey!” Sam said. “It’s just me. Eileen was tired and went to bed.”

“Don't tell me,” Ellen said, clapping her hands together. “Are you and Eileen finally having a baby?”

“We’re due in June,” Sam laughed. The table burst into excited chatter.

“Should she be flying?” Jo said.

“She’s in her first trimester. The doctor said it’s fine.”

“Have you thought about names?” Ellen said.

“Some, but we’re keeping them a surprise.”

Dean listened to everyone else talk and picked at his food. Ellen took notice and swatted him with a napkin. “Something wrong with my pie, son? The ice cream’s nearly melted and you haven’t taken two bites.”

Dean dragged his fork through the mess. “I’m sorry. It’s delicious. I think I’m coming down with something.”

She put a hand against his forehead. “Your color’s off. Why don’t you go lie down in the living room?”

“I’d rather stay here, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself,” Ellen said.

#

She sent him home with a pecan pie she’d baked just for him. He ate a quarter with his feelings, seated at the kitchen table for an hour after his parents had gone upstairs, phone hot in his palm.

> **11:07pm** cas?
> 
> _Delivered_

He tried calling every night for a week, but Cas never answered and didn’t read any of Dean’s messages. Dean thought of packing the Impala and heading up toward Chicago to crash the New Year’s Eve party at Cas’s mom’s. He doubted Cas would turn him away if he had the nerve to show face and apologize, but he watched the countdown on TV with his family and drank away the bitterness he felt seeing other people’s joy on the screen.

He could be kissing Cas right now, if he weren’t an idiot. 

> **12:01am** happy new year
> 
> _Delivered_

He sent the text along with a picture of himself. He smiled at the camera when he took it and thought of Cas.

He waited, holding his breath, hoping Cas had been consoled by his family and would see it, read back through the string of messages Dean had sent him for a week straight, and write something in return.

The status still read “Delivered” the next morning when Dean checked his phone before he got out of bed. There was a crushing sensation in his chest, like the air had been sucked out of the room, like he couldn’t breathe.

It was a new year. A clean slate, he supposed. His mother talked about resolutions over breakfast, vowing to get the treadmill out of the second garage so John could work off the gut he’d been complaining about. Dean, numb and dimly aware of the hot mug of coffee in his left hand, hovered a thumb over the thread of Cas’s messages that went back weeks.

He set his phone on the table and drank the coffee his dad passed him, although it scalded his mouth. He flashed a smile at his parents, whose hands were joined on top of the table, and muttered an excuse about washing up for work.

A hot shower did nothing to lift his mood. He drove to work in a fog and realized halfway through the workday that he’d left his phone on the kitchen table. There were no new messages, no missed calls when he got home.

Cas didn’t want to hear from him. He’d made that crystal fucking clear with his silence. He hadn’t been bluffing like Dean had originally thought, not if he could keeping ignoring Dean’s attempts to contact him. If he couldn’t even be bothered to read them.

“That’s how it is, huh? You know what, fuck you, Cas.”

It was better this way, wasn’t it? To end things while Dean was still in Kansas, rather than to put his life on hold and play house with Castiel in Illinois only to find out, months or even years from now, that Castiel had never intended to keep him around. Dean felt like he would vomit.

He deleted the message thread and blocked Cas’s number.


	10. Chapter 10

Three weeks into January, Dean had already logged more hours than he had during the last two months combined. Everyone had given him a wide berth since Cas left, even his dad, who seemed mollified by the extra hours Dean was putting in at the shop and hadn’t made a dig at him in two weeks.

He liked coming into the shop first thing in the morning, before the phone started to ring, and besides, he wasn’t obliged to answer if it did. He’d lie on his back under a car and work without interruption until the other mechanics arrived. Then, he’d zone out and not talk with anyone. His productivity was fivefold but he didn’t tend to get home while his folks were still up. Dinner was leftovers in the dark or a bowl of cereal.

Dean had been covering the service desk since opening and laid into Ash when he strolled into the shop seventeen minutes past nine with an extra-large gas station coffee in hand.

“You’re late,” Dean said. “You know we lose money every minute I’m standing here instead of working.”

Ash blinked a few times at the rebuke, then sniffed and joined him behind the desk. Dean completed the paperwork on a pick-up that had been in for an alignment.

“Rough night?” Ash said. “Or did Mr. Prius have you on the phone until late?”

“I was here ‘til after ten last night, asshole. Underside of that SUV is all rust. I couldn’t get to the brake line without fucking something else up and it’s leaking fluid into the right rear brake pad. I almost took a monkey wrench to the frigging windshield.”

Ash scratched his bare shoulder. The edges of his shirt, where he’d shorn away the sleeves, were frayed. “What time did you get in this morning?”

“Six. Six-thirty? I dunno. It was still dark.”

“You need more sleep.”

“I get plenty,” Dean said. He jutted his chin toward the to-go cup in Ash’s hand. “Something wrong with the coffee we got here?”

“I don’t remember signing a coffee exclusivity agreement. Sometimes I like a good hazelnut brew. Besides, I needed gas. That’s why I was late.”

“You were late yesterday.”

“You ought to give phone sex a try, Dean. The release is swell and it’ll help your mood.”

“You know what, fuck off.”

Ash was unflapped. He let out a deep breath and shook out his hair. “A couple of friends are swinging by my place after work. We’re gonna order a pizza, drink some beers. You should swing by. Something tells me you need the distraction.”

A stabbing headache had settled in behind Dean’s right eye. Twenty more minutes and he probably wouldn’t be able to see out of it without squinting. He needed more coffee.

“I’m expecting a part to be delivered; they promised me it’d get here this morning. Let me know when it shows up, alright? I’ll be in the garage. I want to get this piece of rust out of here before lunch.”

“Right,” Ash said, faintly.

#

The SUV took two hours longer than he’d hoped, but he managed to salvage a couple parts and save the owner about $70. He didn’t feel anything when she smiled and thanked him.

He broke for lunch, scarfing down a peanut butter sandwich he’d made half asleep. The bread was stale. He washed it down with cold coffee and grabbed the next work order. His knees were sore and stiff from kneeling on concrete all morning. He chased a couple of painkillers with a palmful of tap water from the bathroom sink, the same brand Cas owned, and just managed to get a hand over his mouth before he moaned.

It was stupid, crying over a bottle of painkillers. He locked the bathroom door and rested his head on his knees, grateful, for once, for the noisy bathroom fan.

The afternoon’s work was light: a couple oil changes and a walk-in with an air leak. There was nothing else that could get done today, so Bobby let the other mechanics go around four. Dean worked with the radio off. Close to five, Ash stuck his head into the garage.

“Dean, phone call.”

Dean lifted his head out of the hood of a sedan. “Who is it?”

“He didn’t say, just asked for Dean. Line one.”

His back protested being straightened out. Dean stretched until it cracked. He wiped his hands on his coveralls and picked up the garage phone.

“This is Dean.”

Dead air. He waited a few seconds and rapped his knuckles against the wall.

“Hello? Look, talk or I’m hanging up.”

With a click, the call disconnected. Dean slammed the phone back into its cradle.

“There was no one there,” he called to Ash.

“Call must’ve dropped. Sorry. Wasn’t a great connection. Hey, I’m heading out in a few. If you decide to come over later, you know the address.”

“Probably not gonna make it, but, uh...thanks. You guys have a good night.”

“Yup. Later.”

Dean worked for another hour, finding calm in each turn of his wrist, in the burn of his shoulder muscles. He ignored texts from Sam. He ignored a text from Benny asking him to get a drink; it would turn into a half dozen.

“Dean, telephone,” Bobby barked from the front office. It had to be closing time. The office lights were off and Bobby had his coat on.

Dean wiped his forehead with a rag. “Take a message.”

“It’s your brother. I’d tell him you’ll call back, but that’d be a damned lie. You’ve worked enough for the day. Pack it in.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, you’re fine, are you? Then what’s this Ash tells me about you damn near biting his head off this morning?” Dean started to protest, but Bobby came further into the garage and held up his hands. “Before you get all puffed up, Ash came to me ‘cause he’s worried about you. I know these last few weeks have been hard—believe me, I know better than anyone how it feels to lose someone.”

The wrench slipped from Dean’s hand. He shoved it into his toolbox and stood up. “I’m just tired.”

“Bull. You’re not eating; you’re snapping at customers. You look like hell.”

“Sweet of you to say.”

“Wipe that smartass grin off your face. I’m saying this because I give a damn about you. You and your brother are like sons to me. I’ve known you since you were born, and I’ve never seen you like this. Did that boy break your heart?”

Dean hadn’t cried once in front of anyone. He’d taken questions about how Cas was doing in stride and made up excuses to explain their dwindling communication: Cas was job hunting, he was working an evening shift, he was on deadline for an article. Dean had let everyone think it was the distance causing him to be constantly angry and avoided conversation so no one couldn’t figure out the truth. It shouldn’t have surprised him that of all the people in his life, Bobby Singer was the one who saw through his farce, but he stared like an animal caught in headlights.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Bobby said. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’ve been moping for weeks.”

That had always seemed like a ridiculous description. The heart was an organ. The pain was in his mind, but today the phrase was apt. He did feel broken. And at the same time, he couldn’t let Cas bear sole responsibility. “It wasn’t his fault,” he said.

Bobby looked at him sincerely. “You know, Dean, if you need to talk...”

“I don’t.”

“I won’t force you. But you check that attitude when you walk in the door. You understand?”

“Yessir.”

“Do you need time off?”

“No.” Dean sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “No, I’m good.”

“What happened?”

“Doesn't matter anymore.” His voice was unsteady, but at least it was Bobby he was talking to, and not his father. He covered his face with one hand. “We haven’t talked in a month.”

“Shit, son.”

“My dad said we were moving too fast. Guess he was right.”

“I’ve known your father for a long time and he can be as dense as the concrete under your feet. There’s no such thing as too fast. You either have something or you don’t.”

“Well, it’s too late either way. Cas made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to hear from me. Just...do me a favor. Don’t say anything about it, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow, Bobby.”

“Not too early.” Bobby adjusted his cap. “Say hi to Sam for me.”

“Yeah.”

He waited until he was alone in the garage, then lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Hey. Sorry for making you wait.”

“Dean!” Sam said. “I’ve been worried. You’re not answering your phone. I’ve been texting you all afternoon.”

“Oh, I...I left it at home. What’s up?”

“I haven’t talked with you in a while. Eileen has something with friends tonight, so I was wondering if you wanted to meet somewhere for dinner? Catch up?”

“What, right now?”

“I’m leaving work soon. I could meet you at the brewery in fifteen minutes, if that works. Does that give you enough time?”

“The brewery?” Dean rubbed his neck. “You sure you want to go there? Might be crowded.”

“It’s mid-week,” Sam said. “And Eileen won’t be home until late, so it doesn’t matter if there’s a crowd.”

“I’m a mess,” Dean said. “I’ve been under a car all day.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, if you don’t want to go, just say so.”

“No, I just...I gotta run home first and get a shower. I can meet you in ‘bout forty minutes.”

“Okay! I’ll find something to do for a half hour. If you get there before me, grab a table?”

#

Home, under the hot shower spray, Dean thought about blowing off dinner plans and claiming he was too tired to go out, but he’d hardly seen his brother since the holidays, and who knew how often they’d be able to grab a beer once the baby came. He took a nail brush to his hands with vigor and pulled a clean maroon and blue flannel from his closet. He took the back staircase, hoping to sneak through the back door, but his mom was in the kitchen overseeing dinner.

“Dean, you’re home early! I heard the shower running and thought it was your father. Are you eating with us?”

He scowled and shook his head. “Sammy called. Eileen has something going on, so we’re gonna grab dinner.”

“Good. You need a night out. You’ve been working so hard ever since Castiel left, I feel like I haven’t seen you. Is he still happy to be back in Illinois?”

“Yeah, he’s...he’s really liking it.”

“How’s his daughter?”

“Real good. Doing well in school.” He feigned a glance at his watch and pecked his mother on the cheek. “I’m gonna be late. I told Sam I’d be there ten minutes ago.”

She smiled. “I’ll leave a piece of pie for you in the microwave.”

“Appreciate it. Don’t wait up.”

#

The brewery was crowded. There wasn’t a parking space for two blocks and the wait for a table was over an hour. Dean hadn’t been back since the last time he ate here with Castiel and felt sick stepping through the door. He and Sam could hit up the diner down the block, but there were open seats at the bar and Dean knew Sam would ask questions if they changed venues.

Rather than give his name for a table, Dean strode to the bar and sat down underneath a flat-screen TV, hanging his jacket over the back of the adjacent chair to reserve it for Sam. He ordered a beer and stared at the TV. It played an ad for toothpaste—the natural kind Cas preferred; it got your teeth cleaner than you’d think from the funky taste. The beer was the same kind he’d drunk with Cas, too. He drowned the memory of baking soda and stared at a blank space on the wall.

Sam barreled in fresh from the office in a dark overcoat and suit, cheeks rosy from the cold. “Have you been waiting long?” his voice boomed over the din.

“Just a couple minutes. Hope the bar’s okay. Wait for a table was an hour.”

“Guess I underestimated the crowd.” Sam took off his coat and ordered an ale. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine. How’re you?”

“Concerned.”

“About what?”

“When’s the last time you slept?” Sam asked. “You look terrible.”

“That’s real nice, Sammy. Good to see you too. Remind me to tell you how great you look when you’ve got a newborn and you’re sleeping two hours a night.”

“If you miss Castiel so much, why don’t you go see him? Bobby would give you the time off.”

“That’s not really an option.”

“What happened to moving? I thought you were going after the holidays.”

Dean scowled and cleared his throat. “How’s Eileen doing?”

Sam’s mouth tightened at the blatant redirection, but he adjusted his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “She’s cold all the time, but the doctor says everything is progressing well. We’re picking out a crib this weekend.”

“Let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks. If you don’t mind, that’d be great.” Sam dipped his head and took a few seconds to think. “Dean...you know if something were going on, you could talk to me, right?”

“Spare me the chick-flick crap.”

Sam looked at him for a long time and finally sunk back in the bar stool with something like defeat. “Should we order?”

They got two burgers and a second round of beer with a whiskey chaser for Dean. He barely tasted it before the burn lit up his throat. “Another,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the bar, and ordered another after that as well.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sam asked, eyeing the growing collection of glassware.

Dean looked at him sharply. “I’m not dad.”

“It’s eight o’clock on a Wednesday and you’ve run up a $30 liquor tab. Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or do I have to call Castiel?”

“Be my guest,” Dean said. “If he actually answers your calls, tell him I said hey, alright?”

He smiled, because it was either smile or cry. Every time he thought of Cas, he felt himself unraveling like an ugly spool of thread. He downed the third whiskey, tipping the glass almost fully upside down and chasing the skim of liquor on his lips with his tongue. _Don’t look at Sam_ , he told himself. Look at the bartender, the TV, the reddened skin on his knuckles. Anything but the inevitable pity on his brother’s face.

“You broke up?” Sam said. “When?”

“Few weeks ago.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’ve got a lot going on. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. A couple more weeks, I’ll be fine.”

“Is it because of dad?” Sam said.

Dean twisted a knuckle into his eye. “Nah, I’m the one who screwed it up. I said some things I shouldn’t. I don’t blame Cas for not talking to me.”

“When’s the last time you tried calling him?”

“I don’t know. New Year’s.”

“You should try calling again,” Sam said. “Maybe he’s cooled off by now.”

“What’s the point? He’s gone. He doesn’t want to see me. Hell, I don’t want to see me.”

“I think maybe you ought to talk to someone,” Sam said carefully.

“I’m talking to you,” Dean said. “And Bobby cornered me earlier.”

“Do you want me to call Cas and see if he’d be willing to speak to you?”

“Nope.”

“What if you write him? He’s a writer. He might appreciate that.”

“English isn’t exactly my best subject. Besides, he’d probably recognize the handwriting and burn the envelope without opening it.”

Sam shook his head. “And you claim you don’t like chick flicks.”

Dean shrugged a guilty shoulder. “I admit, some of ‘em are entertaining when there’s nothing else on.”

“Ha!” Sam said. “You know, maybe you ought to get in your car and drive up there. Make a grand declaration in his driveway.”

“Heh, maybe,” Dean said. He picked up his burger and began to eat. “Are you taking time off from work when the baby comes?”

“We both are. It’s really important to Eileen that we both bond with the baby when it’s first born.”

“Can’t believe you’re about to be a father.”

“It’s surreal.”

“You’re gonna do a great job. That kid’s real lucky.”

Dean kept his eyes on the television while they ate. Someone had put on the Weather Channel; they were due for snow. It was probably snowing in Chicago as well.

“Sam...” Dean wiped his mouth and turned his head a quarter in Sam’s direction. “You think I’d be any good at running my own business?”

“I think you’d be great, especially with Bobby there to help. Is dad finally talking about letting you take over?”

“I don’t mean taking over dad’s. I mean starting something on my own.”

“It’s what you went to school for. Dad’s managed it all these years and he never had a degree. I’d say you’ve got an advantage.”

“Am I being stupid, though? If I walk away from the shop, dad’s not turning it over to me when he’s done.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam said.

Dean put down his food and drank his beer. “You’re glad you did your own thing? You don’t regret it?”

“I wish dad and I hadn’t fought so much, but I don’t regret it, no. If this is something you want to do, you should do it.”

“Cas said the same thing.”

“Cas is right. What happened with you two, Dean? You seemed really happy.”

Dean shrugged. “I never gave him a straight answer about going with him. He said he thought I was stringing him along. I got pissed and said some pretty bad things.”

“When was this?”

“Christmas.” The whiskey was awash in his system and Dean began to feel disconnected. “Hey, did you know dad thinks I’m trying to embarrass the family?”

“What? He said that?”

“More or less. I overheard him talking to mom.”

Sam put a hand on his shoulder and looked him squarely in the eye. “Eileen and I support you no matter what.”

“I know that.”

“Does Cas know what dad said?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Like he needed that on top of what happened to his ex-wife and the move? No. Not like he could’ve done anything about it anyway.”

“He could’ve supported you. If something were upsetting Eileen, I’d want to know about it. I think if Cas had realized you had this kind of pressure on you from dad, he might not have reacted the way he did to your indecision.”

“It’s conjecture at this point, isn’t it?”

“I have the name of his brother’s firm,” Sam said. “I could try to get a hold of him, find out how Cas is doing. I bet he’s as miserable as you are.”

“No,” Dean said. “I’m not gonna do this some roundabout way. That’s how I got into this mess.”

“So you _are_ going do something about it?” Sam looked hopeful, eyes big and round like a deer’s, like the one he’d hunted with dad and Bobby when he’d been little. They’d waited silently in the deer stand until it came along and his dad had instructed him to fire.

“I’m getting dessert,” Dean said. “You’re paying.”

Sam drove him home and said he’d swing by early morning to give Dean a lift back to town.

“I’m not letting you drive home like this,” he said.

#

He called at half past five the next morning and Dean stumbled downstairs in his clothes from last night.

Sam was chipper, listening to the news on NPR and sipping coffee from a monogrammed travel mug. He dropped Dean at his car and said he’d call about the crib, then drove the short distance to his office. Dean cleared the stale flavor in his mouth by running his tongue over his teeth, and spit on the empty sidewalk.

The Impala’s windshield was laced with frost. It had been so cold overnight that Dean struggled to get the door lock open. He blew on his hands to warm them and started the engine, letting it take a few minutes to warm up before he put it into gear.

He headed toward the reservoir and idled at a point where he could see the water. He’d meant to bring Cas here; the view was beautiful at night when the stars were out. He sat for a long time with the car idling for heat, rubbing at the ache the whiskey had left in his temples. He should call him, but he had no idea what to say. He unblocked Cas’s number, though he didn’t dial.

The sun was beginning to rise over the reservoir, casting the sky in shades of pink. He threw the car into reverse and glanced in the rear-view mirror, only to be startled by his appearance. His color was off, and the shadows beneath his eyes made them appear lifeless, like the eyes of the deer he’d once watched bleed out.

#

His birthday fell on a blustery Friday at the end of January. He woke before his alarm. Wind battered the siding of the house, bending tree limbs so low they scratched at the windows, and his room was nippy. Mom must’ve turned down the thermostat again.

Winter air seeped in through a crack around the window; he felt the breeze touch his face every time it howled past. He buried himself deeper in his blankets, pulling them up and over his head. He was thirty-four years old today and Dean didn’t want to get out of bed.

His phone pinged with good wishes while he got ready for work, and over breakfast with his mom, but not a single message arrived from Cas. He hadn’t contacted Dean in a solid month, so Dean wasn’t sure why he thought he might hear from him today, except that empty wishes seemed to be an unwritten rule of birthdays.

There was cake and pie in the break room mid-afternoon, the best of both worlds, according to Ash, who deposited a slice of each on a flimsy paper plate and ate with abandon. Bobby, gruff in his sweetest moments, adjusted his cap and thunked Dean between the shoulder blades before ordering everyone back to work.

He let Dean go early so he could meet Sam and Eileen for his birthday dinner. They were taking him out, Sam said. No excuses. They hadn’t given him the name of the restaurant, but Eileen told him to dress smart; she had a cocktail dress that never saw the light of day, and she was wearing it while it still fit.

“Sam’s wearing a tie,” she’d written and texted him with the time they’d pick him up.

At five-thirty, Dean scrutinized his appearance in the bathroom’s full-length mirror, and Sam honked from the driveway. It had been a while since he wore a suit; the last time was for his grandpa Samuel’s funeral. The suit had been in the plastic bag from the dry cleaner’s ever since. Mom had scolded him for it when she’d found out, saying it was bad for the fabric, but the suit was fine—deep gray wool, creases sharp, and it fit him well. He paired it with a white dress shirt and blue tie, and was adjusting the knot when Sam honked a second time and Dean’s cell phone went off.

“Hold your horses, Sasquatch; I’ll be down in a minute,” Dean said and hung up. There was nothing he could do about his face, too thin for his liking—food had been the farthest thing from his mind the first couple weeks after the breakup. But he’d gotten back in his usual swing in just under a month. He didn’t reach for Cas in the night anymore, which was both depressing and a relief.

“Don’t you look nice,” Mary said when he came downstairs. Though the tie was straight, she made a point to adjust it and fix his collar. “Have fun tonight, will you? You need a night out.”

“I’ll try. Sure you guys don’t want to come with us?”

She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Happy birthday.”

The suit should have tipped him off. Eileen and Sam knew better than to take him someplace fancy when a good burger would do fine, but he drummed his fingers on the car door, trying to guess their destination from the nonsensical route Sam was taking—with occasional, surreptitious glances at his phone. Ten minutes in, Dean was convinced they were driving in a circle. After twenty minutes, a bogus stop for gas, and a near 360, they arrived back at Sam and Eileen’s townhouse. The neighboring houses and far curb had birthed a litter of mid-size sedans and John Winchester’s pickup.

“You didn’t,” Dean said.

“You’re welcome,” Eileen said. She got out of the car and hugged someone walking across the lawn. Dean turned accusing eyes on Sam.

“Was everyone in on this?”

“Pretty much,” Sam said. “I know surprises aren’t your thing, but mom thought it’d be a good idea, and Eileen put a lot of work into it. Just...act happy.”

Dean was too tired to put up a fight. “Sure.”

“How are things?” Sam asked. “I know we haven’t had a chance to talk since the last time we went out.”

“I’m fine. In fact, I’m great.”

“Have you heard from Cas yet?”

“Nope.”

“Have you called him?”

“You really made me dress up to hang out at your place?” A curtain fluttered in the front window, and Dean spotted Eileen waving people back from the glass. “Let’s get this shitshow over with so we can start drinking.”

He heard laughter through the door on their approach and made a point to clear his throat loudly before throwing open the door, so they had a moment’s advance warning. Rather than a dark foyer and a group of people uncloaking from various hiding spots behind furniture and obliging walls, Dean was enrobed in four colors of silly string and met with a chorus shouting, “Surprise!” He fished strands of foam from his hair and thanked everyone for coming.

It was absurd to think Cas would be here, but Dean scanned the living room for him on the off-chance that he and Sam had spoken, and that Sam had convinced him to fly out. People crowded on the L-shaped sofa and hovered around the kitchen counter—a mix of college friends and people who’d known Dean since he was knee-high, his parents across the room talking to Bobby, Benny and his wife next to the refrigerator, but no Cas.

The breakfast bar was pulling duty as the beverage station. Dean kept it in sight while he picked his way across the room, eyes on the full bottle of Jack, but Ellen wouldn’t let him get past without a hug.

“Thirty-four years old. Boy, you look like you haven’t slept in a month.”

“How’s Jo liking the new job?”

“She seems satisfied enough. She’s wearing high heels and drinks wine now, if you can believe it. You should come by the house again soon, bring that man of yours so I can meet him. I’m sorry I missed him at Christmas. Is he here?”

He was surprised that Bobby hadn’t told her. “Uh, no. We’re not…we’re not together anymore.”

She gave him a smile that was, for her, gentle. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”

The whiskey called to him like a siren. He took a shot and fixed himself a strong Jack and Coke, topping it off with liquor whenever it dipped below the halfway point. The ice gradually melted and he didn’t bother to replenish it. He crunched the last piece of it in his back teeth and roared with laughter at something Benny said. It felt good to laugh, after not laughing for so long, so he kept drinking. He’d get a ride home from his folks, and there wasn’t anything too technical he had to do at the shop tomorrow. He could change oil with his eyes closed.

Throughout the evening, people hugged him and dragged him into photographs. Sam took a selfie with him, which he promised to leave off of Instagram. Dean saw Ellen speaking with his parents at one point; their faces might have been funeral masks. So she’d told them about Cas. Well, they were bound to find out one way or another.

The room quieted when Sam brought out a pie stuck with so many candles, it looked like it was on fire. “This is just for you,” he said. “There’s cake for everyone else.”

Dean blew out the candles and ate himself sick on cherry pie. He hit his emotional high around eleven, feeling on top of the world, but then Benny said Andrea was thinking about getting a hybrid car and it all went to hell. The skim of happiness ruptured and Dean spent the next fifteen minutes discussing hybrid technology with him and Sam, doing his damnedest not to cry. But he plastered on a smile for Eileen’s sake when he hugged her goodbye and thanked her for the party.

“Next year, I’m surprising _you_ ,” he said to her and stumbled into Sam’s side.

“Whoa, you okay?” Sam asked, pulling him upright.

“I’m good. I’m real good.”

He didn't understand why Sam looked sad. “You're going home in the truck, okay, Dean?" Sam said. “Happy birthday.”


	11. Chapter 11

Dean made fists to get him through the ride home without hurling, kissed his mom goodnight, and conquered the stairs, which might as well have been Everest in his condition. He collapsed face-down on his bed and took out his phone. Nothing, no messages. He’d been an idiot to think Cas might contact him today.

He shouldn’t have deleted Cas’s texts. He wanted to read them now, but at least he had the few photographs he’d downloaded. He looked through them until he reached the picture of the house Cas had sent, and spent several minutes trying to envision the Impala in a subdivision in Illinois; getting home from work and pulling into the driveway in the picture, parking in the left bay. He pulled up the last photograph Cas had sent of himself, the one taken Christmas morning, and held the phone against his chest.

He’d done this to himself. Cas didn’t want anything to do with him, but Dean had lost his self control a couple drinks in and dialed Cas’s number. He gasped when he heard Cas’s voice for the first time after so many weeks.

“Don’t hang up!”

The voice kept talking in the same even tone, and Dean realized he’d gotten Cas’s voicemail, but that meant Cas hadn’t rejected his call. It was something. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and waited for the tone.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said when it sounded. “It’s Dean. Just got back from my surprise party. Remind me to kick Sam’s ass and embarrass the hell outta him in May.”

He listened for laughter that didn’t come. Disappointment constricted his chest and he dissolved into a cry.

“Cas, I miss you so damn bad.” He hid his face in his palm until he could speak again. “I’m sorry for calling like this. I know I shouldn’t. I know you’re not talking to me right now. Hell, I get it. I shoulda gone with you. I wanted to; it just scared the hell out of me. But not seeing you is worse. Not getting to talk to you. I want to hear your voice. Wish you’d call, man, or write me back. I want to know you’re okay.”

He waited, as though waiting could force Cas to pick up, but the other side of the line remained quiet.

“Christ, Cas. I love you.”

He ended the call, dropping his phone between the bed and the wall. He was too dizzy to fish it out just now. He closed his eyes. It would be there in the morning.

#

The hangover was entirely his fault. He wasn’t twenty-one anymore. A headache pulsed behind his eyes and in his temples, and there was a sour feeling just above his navel. His throat was uncomfortably dry. Groaning, he curled on his side. If he moved any more just now, he’d be sick.

A clatter of cookware echoed up from the kitchen—dad was probably cooking breakfast. But instead of easing Dean through the worst of the hangover, the whiff of bacon cooking downstairs turned his stomach. He sat up long enough to crack open the window for fresh air. Tenting his eyes with his forearm to stave off morning light, which only made his headache worse, he listened to the school bus groan up to his neighbor’s house, the wonderful stillness that followed. He breathed into it.

Cas would’ve fixed him tea for a hangover and stayed in bed with him, stroking his hair, then rightly chastise him for drinking so much and order him into the shower. Here he was thirty-four years old, waking up alone in a house that belonged to his parents. This was what he hadn’t been ready to give up a few weeks ago.

It was a half hour before he could sit up, another twenty minutes before he shuffled into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth with the light off and started the shower, scrubbing clean under an arc of tepid water. Any hotter and he might get sick. He almost felt human when he stepped out and onto the shower mat, groping for the counter when his knees wobbled.

The sheets needed washing, but he wasn’t going to let his mom clean up after him for getting sloppy. He pulled them from the bed and gingerly bent over to retrieve his phone, cringing when the screen confirmed he’d called Castiel last night, but Cas hadn’t called back. Dean wasn’t sure if he was saddened or relieved.

He put on clean pants and the loose-fitting blue sweater Cas has left behind. With his phone stuck in a pocket, he took his time going downstairs and crammed his sheets in the washer.

John sat at the kitchen table in his robe, knees dropped wide, reading a catalog with a 1970 Chevelle on the cover. “Morning, kiddo.”

“Hey. Where’s mom?”

“She said she had some errands to run. There’s food in the microwave.”

His stomach wasn’t accepting food just yet, but Dean got coffee and joined his dad at the table. John lay the catalog, cover down, next to his empty plate streaked with syrup. Dean grimaced at a gas bubble in his gut and hung his head in both hands.

“Why don’t you let Bobby and me handle things today,” John said. “I’ve been itching to get into the shop, and something tells me your mom won’t mind having you home. Don’t want you crawling under cars like this.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, rubbing the knuckle of his first finger into his temples. “I don’t know what I was thinking last night.”

“I’m glad you had a good time.” He cleared his throat roughly. “You’ve been down ever since Castiel left.”

The clock in the front hall chimed seven times. Dean took his first sip of coffee, mentally tracing the hot path to his stomach.

“Have you heard from him lately?” John asked.

“Nope.”

John scratched his cheek and spoke toward the window. Snow fell in fat, wet clumps that sagged down the glass. “Ellen told me what you told her. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you. I wish you’d told me. I wouldn’t have...In spite of what I said about it before, I want you to know I thought he seemed like a real good guy. Looked like he made you happy.”

Dean couldn’t help the way his voice broke. “Yeah, he did.”

“Did I ...” John looked uncomfortable and rubbed his neck. “Well, your mother’s worried I might be the reason you two split up.”

Dean stayed quiet.

“If you want to...if you two start talking again, I promise I’ll do better this time.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Dean said.

He sat at the table long enough that his appetite emerged. He got the plate dad had set aside for him and ate it cold, dragging bacon through a gummy puddle of syrup, gnawing on it while he flipped through a home-decor catalog. He had enough in savings for his own place now. Maybe he could find a fixer-upper, something he could leave his mark on. Something to be proud of.

He almost missed the message alert when it chimed in his pocket, a tone he hadn’t heard in four weeks. 

 

> **7:02am** I miss you too. I hope you had a wonderful birthday.

He stared at Cas’s words. They blurred the longer he looked at them, the letters appearing overly black. His heart ratcheted up in his chest and his eyelashes left cold impressions beneath his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he re-read Cas’s words.

“Dean?” his dad asked gently.

He lay a hand on Dean’s arm and Dean looked up, startled. Tears spilled down his face and he gasped for air.

“Think, uh...think I’ll take you up on that day off.” He wiped his eyes. “I’m going for a drive. Might not be home for a couple days, if that’s alright.”

John looked at him for a while, then patted his arm in understanding. He tilted his smile toward the table, gaze falling back onto the catalog.

“Let us know when you get there.”

#

 _Physical Graffiti_ took Dean east on US-36 through Missouri, following green highway signs that pointed him toward Chicago. During his first stop, listening to the soothing rush of fuel into the Impala’s tank, he remembered he’d deleted the address to the house along with Cas’s messages. He couldn’t ask Cas for it again; not only would that reveal Dean’s plans, it would give Cas a chance to tell him not to come. Not willing to take the risk, he messaged Sam, who replied with Cas’s address almost instantly like he’d been expecting the request. They’d probably exchanged Christmas cards.

The closer he got to the GPS estimated arrival time, the higher the snow line, the more nervous he became that Cas would reject him. He got a feeling like electricity around his heart whenever the computerized voice told him to remain in his lane or announced a turn.

Finally, it instructed him to turn right in 200 feet; the destination was on his left. Dean switched off the GPS and clenched the wheel.

Though it was nighttime, Dean recognized the house from the pictures Cas had sent. It appeared homier now that he idled in the driveway. Carriage lights flanked the garage door, illuminating the falling snow. Christmas lights wound up the porch columns even though it was almost February.

There was a light on downstairs, tire-tracks in the snow on the driveway, leading into the closed garage. Someone was home. Dean pulled up close to the house and killed the engine.

 _I’m here_ , he texted his dad, who sent back a thumbs-up.

“Good talk,” Dean muttered, twisting the keys from the ignition and thrusting them in his pocket. His heart slammed with every step from the driveway to the front door, along a curved walkway covered in snow. It crunched underfoot; his nervous laughter showed white in the air all around him. What the hell was he doing? What if Cas took one look at him and told Dean to hit the road?

He held onto the railing as he climbed the steps, drawn toward the glow of interior lights through the stained-glass door. He opted to knock over ringing the doorbell, somehow less intimidating, then stood back with his hands tucked under his arms for warmth.

He heard footsteps and held his breath, tried to gauge what his emotions would be when he saw Cas again, if he should fall down apologizing or beg to come inside, but the person at the door wasn’t Cas and wasn’t Claire. Dean had never seen the guy before. Short, with light brown hair curling behind his ears, narrowed eyes, a suspicious look aimed at Dean. He looked nothing like Castiel and only opened the door an inch.

“Well?” he said, raising an eyebrow when Dean stared at him stupidly.

“Uh.” Dean rocked back on his heels, craning his head to confirm the house number, barely visible in the moonlight. It matched the one Sam had written down, but maybe Sam had inverted a number. The house matched the photograph, but this was a development; the houses were similar in size and shape. “I think I might have the wrong house. I’m looking for the Novaks?”

The man peered behind Dean, giving the Impala a good once-over, and his suspicion morphed into a triumphant smirk.

“Didn’t recognize you in the dark there, Dean-o.”

Dean gaped at the familiarity; he’d never seen this guy before, but he had an idea who he was talking to.

“I’m Gabriel. I believe you’re here for my baby bro. One moment, please.”

His smile was smarmy. He shut the door in Dean’s face.

“Nice guy,” Dean said to the porch light.

He heard two raised voices, a series of quick footsteps, and within seconds, Cas was staring at him through the glass. He paused before opening the door; for a moment, Dean believed he really might be turned away. There had been a motel just off the highway the cheap kind that advertised cable. He could make it back before he got too tired, if Cas wouldn’t let him have the couch. If it were warmer, he’d sleep in the car to save the cash.

The door swung inwards and Cas, barefoot in a black t-shirt and a pair of Dean’s KU sweatpants, stood in front of him. He wasn’t an arm’s length away, but Dean stayed put on the porch, afraid to move. The sweatpants were too long and bunched at Cas’s ankles. His breath curled as white smoke from his lips.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Dean.” Cas rubbed his bare arms against the cold. He kept his face carefully neutral. “What are you doing here?”

“Freezing my nuts off on your porch. Can I come in?”

Cas hesitated before letting Dean inside. He closed the door and stepped half the room away.

“I got your message this morning,” Dean said.

“I surmised as much.” Cas jerked his head toward the hallway. “This is a private conversation,” he said sharply.

“Sorry,” two voices said in unapologetic unison.

Cas sighed. “Like uncle, like niece. Can we...?”

He motioned to the staircase. Dean quickly kicked off his boots and followed him up the carpeted stairs to the second bedroom on the right.

It was a huge room, probably the master suite; he could make out a sink and toilet in the partially opened door across the room. He could’ve picked it as Cas’s room by its scent alone: something mellow, the musty sweetness of old books. A stack of paper spilled across a desk beneath the window, marked with black and red pen.

“You’re writing again?” Dean asked, flushing when he noticed a small picture of them on the corner of the desk in a simple frame, next to the leather-bound notebook Dean had given him for Christmas. Cas nodded.

“I was contacted by an indie publisher I’d submitted to a couple years ago. They have open submissions right now. There’s no guarantee I’ll get published, but I’m getting something ready to send.”

“I’m real proud of you, man.” He unzipped his coat.

“That’s my sweater,” Cas said with the touch of a smile.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean touched his own chest. “I promised I’d get it back to you.”

He waited until Cas indicated he could sit on the bed—a king. They sat a couple feet apart, the closest they’d been in weeks but intolerably far. He grabbed a fist of the navy comforter when Cas started speaking.

“I’m sorry about the radio silence. I thought it would be easier if we didn’t talk and took some time to reevaluate, but I realize in retrospect that cutting you off was a mistake.” Cas swallowed. “I was hurt when I thought you hadn’t been truthful with me, but I should never have ignored you.”

“Yeah, that was a dick move,” Dean said.

Cas laughed a little helplessly. “Dean, when I asked you to move here with me, I realize it was too fast. I never should have put that kind of pressure on you. It was unfair of me to expect you to drop everything and—”

Dean interrupted him with a raised hand. “I gotta...just let me get this out. Please?”

Cas nodded toward his chest and laced his hands together on his lap. “Alright.”

“When you asked me to come with you, I wanted to say yes. Hell, I almost got in the car with you the day you left. You know, I actually thought about asking you to marry me—” Castiel’s eyes went wide. “—but then you made that dig about commitment and I felt like a fucking idiot.”

“I should never have said that. I’m so sorry—”

“Hang on. Let me finish.” Dean licked his lips and Castiel nodded. “I can’t get you out of my head. When I got your message this morning, I got in the car and just started driving. Didn’t stop ‘til I got here. Which is something, considering the hangover I had.”

“Sounds like it was quite the party.”

“Yeah, it was great, except you weren’t there. I spent the whole night getting drunk so I wouldn’t think about you, but all it did is make me think about you more.” Dean kneaded his thighs. “Nothing’s been right since you left. Everything reminds me of you. Even toothpaste commercials.”

“I keep listening to your voicemail,” Cas admitted.

“Oh, god,” Dean groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, speaking through his split fingers. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t remember half of what I said.”

“You said you love me.”

“I do. I wanna fix this, Cas. You gotta tell me how we fix this.”

Cas was quiet a moment too long and Dean had a sick feeling in his stomach, knowing he was about to be turned away, that he’d ruined, irrevocably, the best thing to ever happen to him. He shut his eyes, fighting down the burn in his throat and his eyes, determined not to cry, when Cas’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“You could take off your coat, to start,” he said.

Cas’s words gave Dean hope. “I was thinking, if you’re still open to the idea, I’d stay for a while. See how I like it here.”

“I’d like that,” Cas said, shifting an inch closer. He put a steadying hand on Dean’s knee. Dean took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“Thought I might put that MBA to use, open up my own business. Plus there’s a smokin’ hot writer who lives up this way who’s got a background in sales, so I thought I might stick around until he gets sick of me. Might even make a good business partner.”

Cas cradled Dean’s jaw with his other hand, as if he could read the last few weeks in the curves of Dean’s face. Dean held still and let him touch, smiling when Cas’s exploration reached his lips, a thumb swiping over them until Dean couldn’t resist anymore and kissed Cas’s fingertip. He caught it between his teeth and Cas blushed a deep, beautiful red.

There was a vulnerability to his voice when he said, “Claire was just putting on a movie if you want to join us.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, sucking hard on the tip of Cas’s thumb, encouraged when Cas’s eyes fluttered closed. “Can I borrow a pair of sweatpants? I kinda forgot to pack anything.”

“Of course. And we can run to the store in the morning.”

“Not too early.”

“No,” Cas agreed with a grin and a hand underneath Dean’s shirt. “I think we deserve to sleep in.”

“I’m gonna kiss you hello now.” Dean swallowed the happy noise Cas made against his lips. He framed Cas’s face in his hands and kissed him for a long time.

“I missed you,” Cas said in the space between breaths. “Dean, I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” He wrapped his arms around Cas’s back, pulling them flush against one another. “Sorry for being a dick.”

Cas shook his head against Dean’s shoulder. “I was so angry with you, but when you stopped calling and I realized I might never see you again...I tried to call, but I don’t know if you ever got my messages.”

“I blocked your number.”

“I deserved it,” Cas sighed. “I called your shop once, but I didn’t have the guts to say anything when you answered, and I was too ashamed to call Sam.”

“I didn’t tell them we broke up until last week.”

Cas pulled back. “Why not?”

“They all like you. Sam thought I was an idiot for not going with you, so I let them think it was the distance.”

“I won’t push you about moving anymore, I swear. You can take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”

“I don’t need another month apart to know I want to be with you, Cas. You and Claire. So we did things faster than most people. Who cares?”

Cas looked hopeful. “Does this mean you wouldn’t be opposed to meeting my mother this Sunday?”

“Your mom, your brothers...line ‘em up.”

“It’ll be brunch at her house. You’ll have to wear a tie.”

“I look fantastic in a tie.”

They fell back on the bed and kissed through their laughter. Dean put a knee on either side of Cas’s thighs and both hands in his hair, rocking his tongue into Cas’s mouth in time with the slow thrust of their hips. It had been weeks since they’d last been together and the friction alone was enough to put him over the edge if Cas would move a little faster—

Someone knocked sharply and Dean, already too far gone, hid his groan against Cas’s neck. Castiel laughed and hugged him through it.

“Now I definitely need to borrow a pair of pants,” Dean muttered, the pleasure of orgasm cut short by Cas climbing off of him.

“In my dresser,” Cas whispered. He dropped a kiss on Dean’s cheek and adjusted his clothes before opening the door. Claire arched an eyebrow at them over folded arms.

“Uncle Gabe sent me to find out what’s taking the two of you so long.”

“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Cas said evenly. “Why don’t you make more popcorn?”

“Whatever.” She cast her eyes on Dean. He’d scooted to the end of the bed, bent over his lap to conceal what they’d been doing, but her snort implied she’d figured it out anyway.

“How’s the portfolio coming along?” Dean asked.

“She’s filled up most of the sketchbook you got her,” Cas said.

“Dad, I told you not to look at it!”

“Then don’t leave it on the kitchen table.”

She huffed and started to leave, but aimed her scowl at Dean. “You’re making me pancakes in the morning.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean said. She smiled faintly and went downstairs.

Cas locked the door and came back to the bed. He lay on top of Dean and rested his chin on Dean’s chest. “Change your mind yet?” he asked brightly.

“Nope.” Dean kissed the top of his head, drunk on the knowledge that he could kiss Cas like this every day for the rest of his life. “Not even close.”

 

 

 

 

x

**Author's Note:**

> Please stop by the [art masterpost by dsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/166012403728/this-is-my-art-master-post-for-somewhere-i-have) and give her love.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I began writing this story three years ago at the request of my friend Emily, who asked for a love story that began with a car accident. I shared an early version of the first chapter and a few snippets with the intent to serialize the story, but I pulled them after a major life event made me doubt I’d be able to finish. A year later and divorced, I dusted it off. I changed the tense and several plot points, including the ending, but I wasn’t happy with that version and shelved it to work on other things. I picked it back up eleven months later, in September 2016, re-writing it from the first line with the intent to post it on Christmas, but I ended up sending a copy to Emily and letting it go.
> 
> This past summer, YouTube picked up on my recent interest in Japanese media and recommended a movie called _Doushitemo Furetakunai_ , which some blessed person had subtitled. I’d never seen a BL drama before and watched with fascination from a bubble bath. It was a quiet love story that caught me off guard with its subtlety. I rewatched it a few times over the next month and tracked down the manga and the manga’s spinoff. About the fifth time through the film (it’s nice after a day at work), I realized it has the same beats as this story: two people who start off on the wrong foot get into a relationship that quickly becomes serious, but they break up when one has to move, endure the requisite suffering, and one month later, reconnect at night in the snow. I fell so in love with that story, I thought there might be someone who would appreciate this one after all. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. ♥
> 
>    
> The [fic tag on my blog](http://www.museaway.com/tagged/fic%3A-lawrence-AU-take-2) has three years of posts about this draft if you enjoy photos of coffee, and these are the [reference photos](https://www.pinterest.com/museaway/spn-somewhere-i-have-never-travelled/). Please say hello if you're on [on Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/museawayfic)! 


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